


Homesick (It's a Bittersweet Feeling)

by burninghoneyatdusk



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Step-siblings, artist!Clarke, playboy!bellamy, student!bellamy, student!clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2019-10-31 19:54:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 90,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17855939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninghoneyatdusk/pseuds/burninghoneyatdusk
Summary: When Bellamy looks up, he sees a young blonde girl with sky blue eyes sitting in a booth two down from his own with a man he assumes to be her father. Bellamy watches her ignore the food in front of her as she concentrates so hard on the picture she’s drawing that her brow is furrowed and there’s a determined little frown on her small heart-shaped face. This isn’t the first time he meets her, but it’s the first time the Griffins enter his little town and his little life.-----Bellamy and Clarke can't stand each other, which is only exasperated by the fact that as step siblings, they're stuck in the same house.But when they're paired up as lab partners, they grow closer and realize they may have more in common than they thought. Which really only complicates things further...





	1. Bits and Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song Homesick by Dua Lipa; TeamHodgins did an awesome Bellarke video to it that you should all check out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hV9b58ANS7o
> 
> Yell at me on tumblr @burninghoneyatdusk. Enjoy!

Clarke makes her way through the busy school hallway, the sounds of her classmates' voices and slamming lockers surrounding her. Today has  _not_ been her day.

When her phone rang at lunch and she saw it was her mom calling, she picked it up immediately. It could be an emergency - her mother isn't one to call her from DC in the middle of the day. They have their weekly phone call, and that's pretty much the extent of it. That's always been how Clarke preferred it. Yet, it wasn't an emergency, it was "exciting" news instead. At least, exciting to her mother.

That phone call, terrible in its own right, had also managed to make her late for chemistry class. She flew into the classroom a little breathlessly, having jogged all the way from the outside benches next to the cafeteria. She started to make a beeline for her usual seat next to her lab parter and friend, Monty. Both of them have a knack for science, placing them in the sophomore level chemistry class as freshman students. She stopped short when she realized her seat was already taken by someone else.

"Ms. Griffin, you're late," observed Ms. Cartwig. Her tone implied that an apology, not an excuse or explanation, was the correct response.

"I'm sorry Ms. Cartwig. I..." Clarke trailed off, confused as she looked around the room at the new seating arrangements.

"I assigned new lab partners today," Ms. Cartwig said by way of explanation. "You're with Blake. I figured that if you're chatty enough in class to receive a detention, you're chatty enough to work together as lab partners." 

As she made her way over to him, she noticed he was turned around around to face the table behind him, whispering something to Roma in a low voice, a smirk on that smug face of his. Roma didn’t seem to think it was smug though - she had what can only be described as heart eyes. It didn't escape Clarke's attention that Myles, Roma's lab partner, seemed to be doing all the work alone. 

 _Great_ , she thought as she took a seat. _It’s bad enough she has to put up with Bellamy at the house and at school, but now it'll be nearly impossible to avoid him._

Clarke pushes through the front doors and down the central walkway leading to the school parking lot, glad to finally be free from this hellish day. She spots Bellamy leaning against his truck from a distance away. His arms are folded, his stance cocky as he talks to Roma, who stands close to him while clinging to her books with a shameless smile on her face. He’s still wearing that smirk all of the girls at school seem to fall over backwards for ( _almost_ all the girls, that is), and it doesn’t disappear when he notices her approaching his truck.

"The Princess has decided to grace us with her presence after all,” he comments, tapping an imaginary watch on his wrist. Clarke only rolls her eyes, keeping her face a mask of indifference. Roma takes this as her cue to leave and waves half-heartedly at Clarke with a sheepish look on her face. They hop in the truck on opposite sides: Bellamy in the driver’s seat, Clarke in shotgun, and Octavia sandwiched between them in the middle of the bench.

“Hey,” Octavia greets her, engrossed in whatever text she’s typing out. She tries to stay out of their fights. To their credit, Clarke thinks Bellamy and her do a pretty good job staying clear of one another around their family. Not fighting in front of their them is pretty much the only thing they _do_ agree on.

Everyone’s quiet as the truck rumbles out of the parking lot and onto the street. Octavia glances between them when she finally puts her phone away, probably sensing the tension but decidedly not commenting on it. They all listen to the low, somewhat static, hum of the country song playing on the radio and the concerning but familiar noises of his truck.

Sometimes Clarke isn’t sure it’s going to make it home, but it somehow always gets them from point A to point B. Bellamy insisted on buying this piece of shit car by himself, refusing Aurora and her dad’s offer to buy him a car, even though they have more than enough money to afford it. Bellamy never stopped thinking of the family money as Jake’s money - Griffin money - and in his mind it would be a gift from Jake instead of his mother. He’s always been stubborn in a way Clarke finds infuriating and the incident with the car was no different. He spent all his savings from his summer jobs on this piece of junk that barely runs.

The windows are down and Clarke looks out onto the somewhat dilapidated strip of old shops and restaurants as they cruise down Main Street, the warm spring breeze tossing stray hairs around her face.

 _I can’t believe I live here_ , Clarke thinks. Sure, it’s been five years. A lot of times it even feels much more like home than where she came from. Yet...it’s surreal, to say the least.

\--∞--

_Clarke remembers her childhood in bits and pieces. The earlier memories are the happy ones - her life in an upscale townhouse in the Georgetown neighborhood of Washington DC. As the only child of Jake Griffin, successful founder and President of a top engineering firm and Abby Griffin, Director of Georgetown University Hospital turned Mayor of DC, there was little in life she didn’t have access to. Sure, it was a little lonely as an only child, but she had Wells Jaha who was like her brother for all intents and purposes. His father was the cofounder and Vice President of her dad’s company and the Jaha's had always been a constant presence in her life. Besides, she was a busy child. Ballet practice, private art lessons, and her studies kept her days too full to consider the fact she didn’t see much of her parents. It was when she was eight that all of that came crashing down around her._

_When she’s older, she understands the story in full. It wasn’t a matter of her parents deciding to share every detail with her, to be honest with her. Instead, it was because every detail of the scandal was covered in every national newspaper and at at her fingertips with the help of Google. Each headline chronicled the scandal live - how her father’s firm had discovered faulty building codes in the city’s low income housing while working on a project for the city. How her mother and Wells’s father were against making this public, given that it was classified government information. How her mother had ordered her father’s arrest for leaking the information to the public. The Griffin personal drama and subsequent divorce was so interwoven in the city's scandal that there was no telling one apart from the other. Although her dad didn’t go to jail, he lost his company. Abby stepped down from her mayoral duties, returning to the hospital as a surgeon. Just six months later, their divorce was finalized._

_Clarke still remembers the day they sat her down to explain the news. At just eight, she sat on the bench of her bay window in her bright bedroom painted a pale blush, still dressed in her ballet uniform and holding her favorite stuffed rabbit against her chest. While she didn’t understand the details of what happened at the time, she understood from the whispers of the other students at school the base of the truth. Six months ago, she watched with wide eyes from the crack of her open bedroom door, tears streaming silently, while her father was arrested in their own home, asking her mother how she could do that to them. The students' whispers confirmed what she already knew._

_“We want you to know how much we both love you, sweetheart,” her mother had said, voice cracking. They had left the decision of who to live with on her small shoulders. She chose her father, thinking it was the right choice, still angry at her mother who had not denied the accusations that it was her fault her father was arrested when Clarke asked about it. Her father tried to explain how he wasn't angry with her mother so she should forgive her too. Yet, the older she got, the more of the media scrutiny she was party to, and the more she learned to resent her mother - first for her betrayal of her father, and then for the decision itself to hide the information._

_One year later, Clarke is nine years old and living in a nice house in suburban McLean, VA with her father who now works as a private consultant. She sees her mother on the weekends, but her mother seems unsure of how to act around the little girl who doesn’t want to be there. She becomes a difficult and fussy child, withdrawing into her own world, choosing to spend her time drawing and playing alone in her room rather than with classmates who still whisper about her family. She still plays with Wells sometimes, but there is an unspoken tension they don’t understand as children. They know only that their fathers no longer talk, and it makes Clarke feel like she’s betraying her father by playing at the Jaha house. Eventually, she stops going there too._

_It’s summer when her father decides to take her to their beach house in Charleston for a week. Clarke realizes later that both her parents must have been worried about her and thought a week away would be good for her. At the time, she only felt sad at the prospect of spending time at their beach house without her mother or the Jaha’s. It’s late afternoon when they stop for lunch at a hole-in-the-wall diner in the middle of the state; her father tells her these kinds of unassuming places always have the best food. They’re waited on by a pretty waitress with dark hair and kind green eyes named Aurora, who Clarke later learns owns the diner. The next summer, Clarke is walking down the aisle as a flower girl and moving her life to the small Carolina town named Arkadia, population 6,000._

\--∞--

Clarke tumbles through the kitchen with Bellamy and Octavia, all of them tossing their backpacks and bags on chairs and counters in disarray. Jake works as a consultant out of Columbia now, a forty-five minute commute from Arkadia, so the kids are often home alone in the afternoons. Bellamy heads straight for the fridge and pulls out the half gallon of 2%, taking a few long gulps straight from the carton.

“That’s disgusting,” Clarke comments, glaring at him. She ignores the little spark she feels when she watches his Adam’s apple bulb up and down as he swallows. Octavia glances up from where she’s emptying the contents of her book bag on the counter.

“I’m kind of with Clarke on this one,” Octavia says, but her tone indicates she's not nearly as bothered.

He takes another long swig, making a show of it now that he knows it bothers Clarke.

 _Really, when is she going to learn to keep her mouth shut? It only eggs him on._ He moans as if he’s drinking straight from a chocolate fountain, eyes rolling back into his head in a fake bout of pleasure.

“Shouldn't you be at practice” she asks, crossing her arms. Anything to get him out of the house for a few hours.

Before he can respond, Octavia sighs loudly while plopping into one of the countertop chairs. The 8th grader puts her head in her hands, grumbling about her poor grade on a math quiz and how she’s never going to pass. Bellamy ignores Clarke’s question and walks over to Octavia, ruffling her hair as he takes the quiz out of her hands and studies it for a few minutes.

“Don’t worry, O, you’re going to get this. We’ll go over it tonight when I get home from practice,” he tells her, giving her a quick kiss on the top of her head.

 _For as cruel and irritating as he acts towards her,_ Clarke thinks,  _he’s every bit as good and perfect towards Octavia_.

Sometimes Clarke forgets to hate him, and wonders what it would be like if Bellamy treated her with half the kindness he bestows on Octavia. But it’s not worth wondering; hatred for Clarke aside, Bellamy and Octavia have a special relationship that no one can rival.

It’s a small thing, but Clarke noticed long ago how despite even Aurora offering her assistance on everything from hair braiding to homework, Octavia always gravitates towards Bellamy, as if he’s her true parent. Most of the time, Aurora seems to look on at their relationship with happiness and pride, but a few times Clarke has noticed just the slightest show of disappointment or rejection flash across her face when Octavia shows her clear preference for Bellamy over her. It’s gone as soon as it arrived though.

\--∞--

“So what’s the deal with Roma?” Murphy asks. Bellamy’s walking from the baseball field towards the parking lot, both Murphy and Miller in tow. He’s covered in sweat and sand from the field, but he loves this feeling after a hard workout, all his pent up energy released. He wipes the sweat off his brow with the bottom of his t-shirt.

“You know I don’t kiss and tell,” Bellamy responds, but his smirk tells them all they need to know.

Miller scoffs at that. “I’m sure Trina would beg to differ.” Bellamy gives him a shove in response but Miller only laughs.

Bellamy reaches his truck and tosses his duffle bag in the back. “Yea, yea. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Bellamy heads towards his mom’s diner on Main Street, his favorite country song playing loudly and all of his windows rolled down. It’s his favorite time of day - dusk, with the school day and practice behind him. He drums his fingers on the wheel to the beat of the song and pulls into a spot in front of the diner. He can see his mother emptying the cash box behind the counter through the front window and pulls open the door, the “CLOSED” sign already flipped. The bell over the door alerts his mother to his presence and she smiles at him, taking him in.

“Hi sweetie, how was practice?” she asks, pulling him in for a kiss on the cheek as he walks by her to grab the cleaning supplies.

He’s taller than her now, and he has to duck down so she can reach. They exchange a few more words and then get to cleaning up the diner in silence. It’s the comfortable kind of silence that grows out of a routine - a tradition even - that makes him feel grounded. They dance around each other with ease - he restocks while she counts cash, he mops while she wipes down the counters.

Almost everything has been easier in their lives since Jake Griffin arrived - save maybe Bellamy having to deal with Clarke. Still, it seems a small price to pay when he thinks about the fact that Octavia won’t have to think twice about affording college and his mother no longer has to work such long hours at the diner since she can now afford more employees. Of course, there’s also the fact that Aurora seems genuinely happy too, for the first time since their father died.

But sometimes when he pulls into the driveway of their perfectly manicured victorian in the central residential area of town just north Main Street, it still feels surreal. It feels like it’s not his home, not his life, even after five years. But this part - him and his mother closing up the diner, working around each other in this perfectly choreographed dance - it feels more than normal. All that’s missing is Octavia coloring or working on her homework in their corner booth. But he’s not sad she doesn’t have to stick around for that anymore. When he’s here with his mother, he feels like the moment’s suspended in a time that no longer exists.

\--∞--

_Bellamy’s always thought about his life in four distinct pieces. The first piece is his first five years, the years before his father’s death. These years come only in flashes and short spurts in his memory. When he thinks too hard about the memories, they threaten to dissolve. They only come to him when he least expects it, from a random sound or a familiar smell. From what he does remember, these years are bright and happy._

_Most of all, they’re simple. They smell like his mother’s homemade fried chicken, like the grease on his father’s hands when he returns home after a long day at the shop. They sound like the faulty screen door banging shut on a summer day when he rushes out of their small but perfect two bedroom house on the edge of town to play anything and everything with the neighborhood kids. This includes Murphy and Miller, who have somehow stuck by his side after all these years._

_The second piece begins with a knock on the front door on a spring evening when he’s supposed to be sleeping but is reading with a flashlight to his book. Bellamy refers to this piece as the dark years, although he tries not to think about them too often. They’re the years after his father’s death, when his mother couldn’t get out of bed. The years when she would look through him and Octavia as if they were ghosts like his father, and he realized very quickly Octavia  would be his responsibility._

_Bellamy can still see flashing red and blue lights dancing on his dark wall through his bedroom window. He can still feel the dread as he pulls himself out of bed and opens his bedroom door a crack to peer out just in time to watch his mother open the front door to a police officer standing there, a very sorry look on his face. He watches her simply break in front of the man, collapse in a way he didn’t know humans could do._

_There are some memories that stick out sharply, like the sound of her sobs that first night and the smell of $.99 boxed mac and cheese he learned how to make for him and Octavia, who at only two years old knows only that two people are missing from her life, and doesn’t understand the differences in the how and why. Beyond that, those years are so lonely, that when he tries to conjure up smells, sights, noises from them in the way he can from his early childhood, he simply can’t. Everything was simply gray, the memories a loud silence, and he was simply alone._

_Alone to do the grocery shopping, lying to the grocer when he handed her crumpled bills and change and  telling her his mom was waiting for him in the car. Alone to take care of Octavia when his mother left for her bartending or waitressing jobs in the evenings, the only time she managed to drag herself from bed._

_“Your sister, your responsibility,” she would tell him with a flat voice on her way out the door._

_Alone to steal water bottles from the school to prepare for the inevitable times when their water would periodically shut off, alone to steal candles from the church to prepare for when his mother forgets to pay the electric bill again. He feels isolated even thinking about it._

_But the second piece, the dark years, are the years he learns to pretend. He smiles at school, makes himself as presentable as possible. He makes excuses for his mother after he hears about the boy in the grade above him who was separated from his older brother after they were taken from their mom and put into the system. He learns to be funny and charming, to ask questions and become a good listener, if only so the attention will never drift to himself. If only so no one will be asking questions about his own situation._

_To his dismay, even in elementary school, this leads to him becoming a pretty popular kid. Of course, being a good athlete doesn’t hurt either. But even Miller and Murphy don’t know what it’s really like for him, despite living down the street. He continues to make excuses for why he can’t play with them as often as he used to, why he doesn’t join their street hockey games or pick up basketball games in the park. Because little boys are mostly focused on themselves, it becomes all too easy to do._

_The third piece starts the day the social worker knocks on their door while Bellamy sits at the kitchen table helping Octavia with her first grade spelling homework. Bellamy, just eight years old and two weeks into the start of third grade, is home alone with Octavia. He’s been playing this game for three years though, and he knows better than to open the door when his mother isn’t home; his mother works nights at a bar and days at a gas station._

_The knock comes again at 11:30PM, just a few minutes after his mother returns home from the bar. Octavia continues sleeping, snoring lightly, and he crawls out of his own bed as quietly as possible to peek through the same crack from the open door he did three years ago. He hears his mom begging the man, saying she’ll do anything for another chance, begging for him not to take her babies._

_It makes Bellamy sad when he realizes how surprised he is to hear his mother say this. His mother and the man then disappear into his mother’s bedroom for a long time; long enough that Bellamy eventually goes back to bed and falls into an uneasy sleep. It takes him years to understand what really happened that night, and when he remembers it now, it still feels like a kick to the stomach. But the next morning, the man is gone and his mother seems alive again for the first time since the red and blue flashing lights, despite the bruises he notices on her neck and arms. It’s as if the trauma he’s sure she must have faced that night turned her numbness to real pain and made her want to do something about it._

_Aurora quits her other jobs after that and begins working long hours at a diner in the center of town. The owner is kind to her, probably taking pity on her situation, and she makes more money than both her old jobs combined. This time, with the owner’s allowance, Bellamy and Octavia come to the diner with her after school. They do their homework in the corner booth and stay through dinner time when Bellamy helps his mother close up the diner. Sometimes the owner comes in for dinner and Bellamy can feel him watching Octavia and him; sometimes he catches him with a soft smile on his face, despite the fact Bellamy knows him to be rough around the edges and have no children of his own._

_Aurora seems happy in these months and one day Bellamy notices a new orange canister of pills now sits in the bathroom cabinet. Like the social worker, it takes Bellamy years to understand the significance of the pills but this time, he knows it’s a good thing. He knows his mother wants to take care of herself and them - wants to live. But still - it’s been so long since Bellamy has known stability, let alone happiness, that he can’t help but be weary in this change of events. Even now, so many years later, he feels he has to be prepared for the other shoe to drop, not entirely trustful of their change in fate. Even now, he feels like he has to remain an adult in the household, and is still taken aback when Jake is there to handle things instead._

_It’s only six months into this change when the old diner owner passes away with no children. To his mother’s dismay, he leaves the diner to her. To this day, Bellamy wonders why his mother never sold it, considering she could have made a decent amount of money. But it’s as if Aurora never even considered that, as if it was too closely tied with this new beginning they received. Bellamy helps his mother run the diner and continues to help Octavia with everything from homework to patching up cuts and braiding her hair._

_It’s two years later and Bellamy is ten when the last piece - the present piece - begins. It begins as any other uneventful summer day when Bellamy and Octavia are in their usual corner booth, Bellamy reading a battered magic treehouse book from the Library and Octavia playing with two old Barbie dolls he got her from Goodwill. When Bellamy looks up, he sees a young blonde girl with sky blue eyes sitting in a booth two down from his own with a man he assumes to be her father. Bellamy watches her ignore the food in front of her as she concentrates so hard on the picture she’s drawing that her brow is furrowed and there’s a determined little frown on her small heart-shaped face. This isn’t the first time he meets her, but it’s the first time the Griffins enter his little town and his little life._


	2. The Truce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, thank the Snow Day I have and the fact I don't feel like leaving my apartment. Here's a bonus chapter this week. I'll probably actually publish closer to twice a week given how fast I'm writing this.

The five of them are seated around the dining room table that evening, eating dinner as a family. It’s something that’s important to both Jake and Aurora, probably because of their own pasts, that they sit down together every night. Given Jake’s commute, the diner, and various sporting practices and school events, this means it can be as late as 8pm by the time they all eat.

Clarke’s playing with her spaghetti, twisting and twirling it around and around without taking an actual bite, as she listens to her dad admonish them for their Chemistry class behavior. In addition to their forced partnership - which they can both agree is punishment enough - they both received a detention, and thus the call home that accompanies it.

“For two siblings who claim to not be able to stand each other, Aurora and I are a bit confused how you ended up with detention for multiple accounts of talking during the lesson.”

“I’m not his sister!” Clarke yells at the same time as she hears, “I’m not her brother!” from across the table. Clarke spares Bellamy a glance at that, and they make brief eye contact before Bellamy tears his gaze away and back towards his plate, a strange look on his face.

“We weren’t _talking_ , we were _arguing_ because he doesn’t know how to sit through a class without making it his mission to intentionally annoy me!” Clarke argues, her voice rising. Octavia sinks deeper into her seat. Bellamy lifts a brow at her and his face turns as malicious as her tone.

“Sure _Princess_ , because everything I do is about _you_. I forgot the world revolves around _you._ ” She glares at him in response, but he continues, raising his hands as if to shield himself. “Don’t go throwing any forks or knives, I barely survived the pen attack.”

Clarke stands and excuses herself from the table before anyone can call her back, storming off to her room. She hears Aurora scolding Bellamy and expects her father to show up at her door angry, demanding she come back to dinner; he doesn’t. She spends the rest of the night studying, taking short breaks to sketch when she finds the boredom too much.

In her heart of hearts, she knows she probably overreacted in chemistry. Yet, she also knows from the smirk on Bellamy’s face that he _enjoyed_ the fact that he was annoying her, whether it started as intentional or not. That’s the part that really gets to her. Not the little irritating things he does on a daily basis, but the fact he seems to get so much enjoyment out of her irritation.

Still - she knows she didn’t help the situation tonight. She knows Bellamy didn’t know that she just found out that her mom is getting remarried next summer to a man she doesn’t know...a man she has to spend time with during her annual three week visit with her mom this summer. Her mother as a general topic puts her on edge, mostly because of the guilt she feels about the relationship. She pushed her away for so long, she doesn’t know how to fix them.

\--∞--

It’s about 10pm when a knock on Clarke’s door startles her in the middle of a sketch, causing her to draw a jagged line in the wrong place.

“Dammit,” she mutters, sliding off the bed.

She’s changed into a pair of black leggings and an old concert t-shirt of her dad’s that she cropped. She doesn’t want the lecture from her dad waiting on the other side of the door, but she knows she doesn’t really have a choice.

She can’t hide the shock on her face when she swings the door open to find Bellamy instead of her father, leaning casually against the door frame, arms crossed in front of his chest in a defensive position. Her shock turns to annoyance in a matter of seconds.

“What do you want?” she asks him before he has a chance to open his mouth. To her surprise, instead of biting back, he looks almost sheepish.

“Listen…” he starts. “I wasn’t _trying_ to annoy you in class the other day but I know I could have tried harder _not_ to annoy you, so…” Clarke waits a beat, but he doesn’t continue.

“We both know you were,” she replies, now crossing her own arms. He rolls his eyes almost playfully at that.

“Okay yea maybe I was...listen, I’m sorry though, okay?” It looks like he might be physically ill from the apology, and she just stares back in disbelief.

“You’re _apologizing_? To me?” she asks, her tone flat.

He’s awkward suddenly, and runs a hand through his hair, a gesture she’s known for a long time means he’s nervous. Then it dawns on her.

“My dad told you, didn’t he, about my mom?”

The sheepish look on his face confirms it, and she feels angry, embarrassed tears spring up. Before he can even respond, she snaps at him.

“I don’t need your pity, okay? You’re not sorry, so don’t be sorry. There’s no reason to feel sorry for me. Since that’s the only reason you’re here, you can go now!” His face morphs into something angry faster than she can blink.

“Trust me, _Princess_ ,” he starts, basically spitting the cruel nickname. “The only people I feel sorry for are the rest of us who have to deal with your batshit mood swings.”

She slams the door in his face, right before the tears stream down her face. Crawling onto bed, she wonders if he might be right.

\--∞--

_Clarke can’t remember a time it hasn’t been like this between her and Bellamy - it’s like their very DNA was created specifically to annoy the other. She still remembers the first time they went to the diner, how the pretty waitress made her dad smile, a rare occurrence since the scandal hit. She realized that even at 9 years old, how sad her dad had been. Yet, she didn’t think anything of it until he took her back to the diner one Saturday a couple of months later._

_He asks Clarke if she remembers the waitress and she agrees instantly, thinking of her green eyes and her dad’s smile. He tells her that her name is Aurora and that they’ve become good friends since they last saw her together. He tells her he wants her to meet Aurora again, as well as her kids. On the drive down, he explains how she has a son a year older than Clarke and a daughter a year younger. Clarke quickly becomes excited at the prospect of making new friends, despite her troubles with her classmates back home. It wasn’t easy to make friends while still wearing the scandal like her own scarlet letter. Her introverted, withdrawn personality was no help either. Yet, she couldn’t have been more wrong in her expectations for the Blake children...at least about the boy._

_They all sat down to lunch at a corner booth in the diner, Clarke and her father on one side and Octavia, Bellamy, and Aurora on the other. Octavia talks to Clarke with reckless abandon, telling her anything and everything about her life and her school. Clarke’s a little tired by it, but decides early she likes the girl who is able to draw Clarke out of her shell with ease. She tells Clarke how this is their special corner booth, her brother and hers, but she can use it when she wants to. Clarke's smile is genuine at the strange offer._

_Bellamy is another story altogether. Although polite, he doesn’t say a word during lunch. He remains focused on his mother and her dad instead of Octavia and her, his face weary about something she doesn’t understand._

_Over the next few months, she spends a lot of Saturdays with the Blakes. The weekend after they met at the diner, Jake sits Clarke down to ask how she feels about him asking Aurora to be his wife. When she doesn’t answer, he asks if she understands what that means. Clarke does, but she’s only thinking it over, never one to make rash statements and forever a serious child._

_She nods eventually, telling him it’s okay because they make her dad happy and she likes the Blakes. Well she likes Aurora and Octavia, but she leaves out her concerns regarding Bellamy. Jake kisses her on the forehead and is about to walk away when she tugs on his arm. She tells him this doesn’t mean she wants a new mom and Jake smiles a sad, soft smile at her. He tells her no one can replace her mother, who loves her more than the world. Clarke smiles and tells him she’s excited to have a brother and sister._

_The next time she sees the Blakes, it’s obvious Aurora has had the same conversation with Bellamy and Octavia. Octavia is thrilled at the concept of having a new sister and the two get along better with every adventure they find themselves on when Clarke visits their little town. Bellamy, often tasked with keeping an eye on them, swings in the other direction._

_What was once an uneasy indifference becomes outright hostility towards her. He snaps at her when she asks him questions and tugs at her hair when their parents aren’t looking. He tells her he already has one real sister and doesn’t want a fake one. He calls her Princess in a tone that makes her hate the nickname that her father once bestowed on her with nothing but adoration. When Clarke asks her dad not to call her that anymore, he believes it's because she’s simply grown out of it._

_Clarke considers telling her dad about how mean Bellamy is but then she sees how happy he looks, how he no longer mopes around the house like he did for so long, so she keeps it to herself. As she gets older, she sees how much happier her dad is with Aurora than he ever was with her mother, even before the scandal, and realizes they probably would have separated anyways. Still, she wishes it happened without the drama and public scrutiny they endured._

_Jake and Aurora set a date for the summer, and Bellamy continues to worsen. This time, her dad and Aurora seem to notice his moods on their own and Clarke sees the concern in their eyes. His anger extends to them now, in addition to Clarke, although Octavia remains the apple of his eye._ _A month before the wedding, it reaches its peak when Bellamy takes a bat to her dad’s car in the middle of the night._

_Bellamy makes no attempt to hide his crime, as if he wants to be in trouble for it. Clarke walks outside of the Blakes’ old home when she hears the commotion. She sees Aurora dragging Bellamy inside, his hands cut and bloody from the smashed windows, and her dad standing at a loss with his hands on his hips, staring at the car. When he sees her, he tells her to go back to the bedroom where her and Octavia sleep. When they visit, she shares the second bedroom with Octavia and Bellamy takes the couch._

_As nosy as ever, she opens the bedroom door a crack while Octavia sleeps soundly. Bellamy is yelling at Jake and Aurora with tears streaming down his face, waving around his bandaged arms. She’s never seen him hysterical like his before, in clear distress. It frightens her._

_He tells Jake he should hate him, that he can’t marry his mother anymore because of what he did. Clarke watches Aurora and Jake exchange a knowing glance as some realization unbeknownst to her clicks into place. Aurora tells him they should all get some sleep, that they’ll talk about it in the morning. When Clarke wakes up the next day, her dad and Bellamy are gone. Over pancakes with Octavia, Aurora tells them her dad took Bellamy out for a boys' breakfast, as if nothing is out of the ordinary._

_After that morning, things are different. Bellamy still ignores her existence, acting indifferent towards her for months after the wedding, through the purchase of their new house and move to Arkadia. Eventually though, he starts picking on her again. He mocks her as if he physically can’t hold back. But whatever possessed Bellamy on that one summer night, Clarke still doesn’t know and never sees again. The family doesn’t talk about it, despite the scars that litter his hands and forearms. Clarke doesn’t know what they talked about at the breakfast either. Despite her curiosity, she knows better than to ask._

\--∞--

Twenty minutes after Clarke slammed the door in Bellamy’s face, Octavia knocks at her door. Per usual, she lets herself in before Clarke can respond. Plopping down on Clarke’s bed next to her, Octavia gives her a long, hard look. Clarke can imagine what she sees - swollen, red eyes. Disheveled hair falling out of its messy bun. Nails bitten to the core.

“Do you want to talk about it?” the younger girl asks her.

Clarke knows she means her mom and the engagement, and not her latest fight with Bellamy. Despite that Clarke and Octavia remain close, and that Clarke really did gain a sister in her, she would never confide in her about Bellamy. It’s not that she takes Bellamy’s side in these things - she mostly just stays out of it altogether. But Clarke knows if it came down to it, Octavia would have Bellamy’s back. They’re closer than most siblings.

While it’s no surprise that Bellamy doesn’t confide in her, even Octavia won’t share much about her childhood before the Griffins. Clarke knows they lost their father young, and that’s about all.

 _Whatever happened in those years_ , Clarke has always thought, _established some kind of unbreakable bond between them that she has no place in._

Whatever these early events were, it’s another thing the Griffin-Blake household doesn’t talk about.

Clarke lets out a long sigh in response to her question. Octavia moves so that she’s curled into Clarke’s side, resting her head on Clarke’s shoulder so Clarke can rest her own head atop hers.

“There’s not much to talk about, not really. It’s not that…” Clarke starts, unsure of how to put it. “It’s not that I don’t want her to remarry and be happy. It’s just - it’s a reminder of what a stranger she’s become. I didn't even know she was seeing someone. I've never even met him, and now they're engaged. Then I think about how much that’s on me, for pushing her away when I was young.”

The truth is, Clarke holds a lot resentment. It’s complicated because despite how much closer she is with her father, the resentment she holds is for the both of them. She hates how they even gave her a choice regarding who to live with. She knows they must have thought they were doing a good thing by giving her that freedom. But the reality is, she needed structure, not freedom. Clarke was forced to make a choice at 8 years old, and any choice was going to be the wrong choice. A choice she was going to feel guilty about, no matter who she chose. A choice she had to bear alone.

Octavia knows Clarke mostly just wants someone to listen, so she simply hums in response. They turn on the TV perched on a shelf in front of Clarke’s bed and watch Friends reruns, laughing at jokes they’ve heard a million times, until Clarke eventually dozes off.

\--∞--

The next morning, Bellamy drives the three of them to school in their usual silence, Octavia nestled between them as a human buffer. Even when things _aren’t_ this bad, there’s not a lot of conversation on the morning rides, both Clarke and Octavia being the epitome of terrible morning people. Octavia clutches her coffee tumbler like a life line while Clarke rests her head on the window and tries to keep her eyes open.

Blowout fights with Bellamy always follow a very specific pattern, honed with years of practice. In a way, it’s just another part of Clarke's routine, like school, drawing, and her evening runs. After a big blowout fight (last night _definitely_ fitting the bill), it’s radio silence between them for a week or so.

They both feel ashamed for upsetting their family - the one thing they generally agree on. It’s an unspoken rule that they spare their parents and Octavia if they can manage it. Usually, they try to stay clear of each other in the house so as to not spark a war. They act like enemy ships passing each other in neutral waters, defensive and weary, but not ready to shoot until the other shows indication they might.

So when they fail at that, as they _spectacularly_ did yesterday, they spend a cool down week stepping around each other carefully, polite and indifferent toward the other. Then, a week or two later, one of them deems enough time has passed that the other can steal marked leftovers, start a fight over the TV remote, or make one of a hundred snide comments they have in their arsenals marked specifically for the other. It starts all over again after that, until one of them takes it too far and another blowout fight ensues, their family members becoming casualties once again.

Clarke glances at Bellamy, clad in wayfarer sunglasses and humming to the beat of the song on the radio. She grits her teeth in annoyance at the fact he’s a fully functioning - no, _thriving_ \- human before 8am. Thanks to Ms. Cartwig’s decision to pair them as lab partners - a decision she’ll probably regret because Bellamy and her are bad enough when they’re _not_ around chemicals and an open flame - it’s going to be hard to stick to their traditional routine this time.

\--∞--

When Clarke walks into the lab that afternoon, she finds Bellamy already sitting at their high top table. Miller is turned around in his seat at the table in front of their own and Bellamy is laughing loudly as he tells him a story, gesturing a bit wildly with his hands.

Some part of her that she buried five years ago wonders what it would be like to know _that_ Bellamy. The popular Bellamy who laughs, who jokes around, who isn’t...hampered by her very presence. But there’s really no sense in wondering that. She shakes off the stray thought and schools her face into an indifferent expression, preparing herself for the onslaught that is probably coming.

“Hey,” she greets them quietly, taking her seat on the stool next to his.

Miller raises his eyebrows at the situation and spins back around to face the front of the classroom, probably feeling the awkward tension engulfing the two of them and decidedly _not_ wanting to become entangled in what is sure to become an argument.

“Hey,” Bellamy says back. He’s drumming his fingers on the desk as the leg closer to hers bounces up and down as if he’s nervous.

Clarke opens her mouth, about to tell him to knock it off. The rational side of her that usually takes a vacation when he’s around pipes up, telling her it’s not the hill to die on today.

“So-,” he starts, but Ms. Cartwig walks to the front of the room at that moment, commanding their attention.

She explains the lab directions to them in great detail and Clarke tries to pay attention closely, even as his leg continues to bounce, brushing up against her own a few times. Clarke knows chemistry is far from his best subject; she’s inherited her mother’s gift for science and medicine, so she’ll probably be carrying the weight here.

Ms. Cartwig commences the lab and Clarke starts to ask him what he was going to say as he starts to talk at the same time.

“Sorry...what were you saying?” she tries again. She keeps her voice as cool and unaffected as she can manage.

He furrows his brow, like he’s trying to think of the best words to use.

“Listen - I’m sorry for purposely annoying you the other day.”

Clarke shoots her eyebrows up in response. It was surprising enough he tried to apologize last night, and that was only because he felt sorry for her. She definitely didn’t expect another attempt after their screaming match last night. He looks at her expectantly, and she’s trying to think through if this could be a trick of some kind. His voice seems genuine enough though. Even though she doesn't like him, she still knows him enough to pick up on these small details.

“It’s okay,” she says finally. “I may have overreacted...I tend to do that sometimes,” she finishes with a shrug.

Bellamy looks like he has to physically bite his tongue to keep himself from making a quip about that, but he manages. He takes a moment instead, swallowing a little harshly.

“Truce then? For the sake of this lab...I don’t think either of us are in a position where we can fail this.”

Clarke knows that’s true. She has to remain at the top of her class, especially in her science courses, if she wants to be accepted into a top tier pre-med program. She knows Bellamy needs to meet certain academic requirements for athletic scholarships in the next few years. In typical Bellamy fashion, he wants to pay for as much of his college as possible even though their parents could send him on their dime with the snap of their fingers.

Clarke sighs and nods, agreeing to the truce, but not really having much confidence in it if she’s being honest. Still, she supposes it doesn’t hurt to try. If he’s going to put in the effort, she’s not going to be the one at fault for their failure.

“Good, okay,” he says, relaxing his shoulders and giving her a small smile. It looks unpracticed on his face, like it’s forced and he’s unsure of it.

“Alright, let’s do this thing,” he continues. “I think we both know we’d be stupid not to let you take the lead here.”

In other circumstances, she might think he’s just trying to mooch off of her work. But with this new "truce" - something never declared in their five years of knowing each other - she decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. She can’t let their pettiness interfere with their schoolwork. At least they're on the same page regarding that.

Surprisingly, they manage to get through their first hour as lab partners without any damage - chemistry-related, verbal, or otherwise. Bellamy even cracks a few jokes, as if he forgot he’s not supposed to be funny or charming around her. Clarke forgets she’s not supposed to find him funny. She doesn’t outright laugh, but she can’t help the small smirk that escapes her lips a few times.

To Clarke’s surprise, he ends up being a pretty decent partner. It turns out they work well together when they aren’t actively working against each other. Who would have known.

\--∞--

The weeks are flying by for Bellamy this semester, and before he knows it, he’s in the thick of April. He goes to practice everyday, continuing to be featured in the paper for his wins as the varsity pitcher every Friday night. The baseball team makes it through April undefeated for the first time in years.

He parties on the weekends with Miller and Murphy at the house of whichever classmate is hosting that night, because it goes without saying that they’re invited to all of them. He takes Roma out, hooks up with her at parties or in his truck when necessary. By May, he’s already itching to move on.

Of course, he still helps his mom close up the diner whenever he can and works there with her on weekends. He still makes sure to spend time with Octavia, trying to catch her when she’s not hanging out with her own friends, and especially when she’s not hanging out with Clarke. Whatever this new truce is he proposed, it’s delicate and he’s not sure that it applies outside the lab...or when a good time to find that out would be.

He’s glad he suggested the truce but was surprised she went for it. Sure, he wants to get a good lab grade. But if he’s being honest, it was really the disappointment in his mother’s eyes and the stress in his sister’s after Clarke stormed away from the table Monday night that made him realize it just wasn’t worth it anymore.

Maybe if he didn't provoke her, as fun as that could be, she could chill the hell out. They didn’t need to be friends, but maybe they could manage to simply coexist without stressing out their family or something. So far they were doing just that.

\--∞--

The spring seems to pass in a blur for Clarke. She studies, runs, and sketches. She hangs out with her usual crew on the weekends, which consists of Monroe, Harper, Monty, Jasper, and Maya. She has movie nights in with Octavia. Most important is what she _doesn’t_ do, which is get in any kind of fight with Bellamy.

In fact, it’s incredibly strange to her, how quickly they were able to flip a switch. Not only do they not fight, they don’t even bicker. She’s unsure of when this was decided, but it seems to be some kind of unspoken agreement that in order to work together in the lab, they avoid each other at home like ghosts occupying the same house. It’s as if they’re both afraid their lab truce can’t withstand their household behavior. Yet in the lab, their almost... _friendly_.

It’s the first week of May and Clarke’s feeling pretty good about her chemistry grade, both class and lab. No one is more surprised than her that the lab has actually gone smoothly. Still, the course content is challenging, even for her. She wonders if Bellamy is worried about the final exam at all. She looks over at him sitting next to her, absentmindedly wondering if he might want to study with her, but dismisses the thought as soon as it appears. Whatever this is, it doesn’t exist outside room 205.

She has to suppress a laugh as she looks at him now. He’s wearing the safety goggles, focused intently on mixing two chemicals. The serious look on his face reminds her more of the boy she sees at home, lounging with a book or helping Octavia with homework, than the popular varsity athlete.

She ignores the strange flutter in her stomach that blooms when he catches her looking and gives her a look that seems to be a joking plea for help, his eyes wide in fake fear. She smirks and rolls her own eyes, but without any malice, as she takes the test tube from him. She tries to ignore the feeling that flares up again as his fingers brush against hers when he hands it off.

\--∞--

A week later, Bellamy’s in the kitchen after practice, still covered in sweat and sand from the field. He’s searching the fridge for a bottle of water when he hears someone walk in behind him. Glancing up, he sees that it’s Clarke, sweaty from her run, in only leggings and a sports bra. His mouth goes a little dry.

“Sorry-,” she starts, turning to walk away.

“For what?” he answers, and she stops, despite already having turned to walk away.

“Here,” he calls to her, tossing one of those bottles of lime flavored sparkling water she loves in her direction. She turns around just in time to catch it, juggling it and nearly dropping it in the process.

“Oh...thanks,” she says a bit awkwardly, a bit surprised.

“I wouldn’t get any ideas about joining the softball team,” he quips before he can think better of it. Bellamy tenses immediately, hoping she heard the lightness in his tone. They’ve been getting along the last two months, but it feels stiff outside the lab, as if they’re walking on eggshells around the other everywhere else.

To his relief, Clarke just laughs lightly. He can feel his body relax as she walks towards him, leaning against the kitchen island.

“That will definitely not be a problem. I’ll leave the balls to you.”

He smirks and raises a brow at her wide eyes as she realizes immediately how that came out.

“You know what I mean!” she groans, her face flushing red. But her own little smirk tells him that this conversation...well it’s not a complete disaster. It’s going alright.

It’s silent for a minute as they both sip their waters, neither making a move to leave. It surprises him how normal this seems. Not at all as awkward as he expected. Then again, they’ve lived together for so long that maybe when you take away their cruelness that’s just what they are - normal. Comfortable.

It’s Clarke who ends up speaking first.

“This has been a pretty nice truce. I mean, I think Octavia’s blood pressure has definitely gone down,” she laughs, a bit nervously.

He smiles at that, runs a hand through his hair. He’s unsure of what to say next but he's surprised to realize he definitely wants to keep talking to her.

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks. _Why not shoot straight._

“Yea, sorry, I can be a bit of an ass. I’m...aware of it,” he tries. She nods in agreement.

“Yes, you can be,” she deadpans. She lets a little grin loose, but doesn’t say anything else.

“And…?” he prompts her, his tone lightly mocking and his own smirk now present. Although he’s not sure, it might just be a plain, old-fashioned smile. Clarke, of all people, might be making him smile. Hell should be freezing over any second now.

She chuckles at his attempt to get an apology out of her, but gives in.

“ _And_ , I guess I do tend to overreact, at times.” Then her face becomes a bit more serious. It’s such a subtle shift that he nearly misses it. “I just didn’t understand why you hated me and-”

“I don’t hate you,” he blurts too quickly, interrupting her. He’s suddenly very thankful for his darker complexion that hides his blush. He can see the shock on her face.

“Always seemed like it,” she counters. “But...I don’t even know how we got to this point, do you?” she asks.

He thinks for a moment. He remembers very clearly how they got to this point, but he can’t tell her that.

He can’t tell her how on the first day he saw her, he felt as in love as a ten year old can feel with the little blonde girl with the crayons and that determined, serious look on her face. Even then, he had innocently wondered what it would be like to be the one who wiped the frown away, who made her laugh.

He can’t tell her how apprehensive he felt about not only Jake and Clarke joining their little family for an abundance of reasons having to do with his trust issues, but also because even as a kid, he knew that what he felt towards her was far from brotherly.

He can’t tell her how the only solution he could think of was to push her away, making sure she never got too close. How he showed her his worst, a new kind of pretend than the kind he played at school. It wasn’t really pretend at all, because his worst feels like who he really is, more so than the charming jock.

He can’t tell her that after he showed her his worst, and he got her worst back, he didn’t even have to pretend to dislike her anymore. His initial crush faded fast. There were plenty of things about her that genuinely irritated him to no end. She was spoiled and privileged, having never experienced anything close to hardship. She was bossy and always thought she was the smartest kid in the room (which might be true, but that's not the point). She was too serious, too afraid of breaking the rules to have any real fun with other kids.

 _How did they get to this point?_ she had asked.

Somehow, over the years, the reasons for acting the way they did were lost on both of them. They shut out the good with the bad when it came to the other. His childhood crush is long dead, but the plan he set in motion to kill it carried on full speed ahead until their broken relationship was too big a mess to attempt to fix. 

 _Until now_ , he thinks.

All these thoughts, all the ones he’ll never tell her, go through his head in just moments.

“I…” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. Finally, he drops his hand in resignation. There is nothing close to the truth he can share with her. “Honestly, yea, I don’t know,” he finishes lamely.

She takes a long sip of her water bottle and he can’t help but rake his eyes over her body. He takes in her tight leggings, the way her bra lifts her breasts perfectly, the sweaty sheen across her chest.

 _His crush is long dead,_ he reminds himself.

“Well, I guess we have Ms. Cartwig to thank for…” she gestures between them, seemingly searching for the words that fit whatever they've become.

“For no longer wanting to kill each other at all times?” he tries. She laughs, and he likes that he can make her smile as much as he can make her yell, but crushes the thought as soon as it arrives.

“Well, cheers to that then,” she says, a bit sarcastically, lifting her bottle in his direction. She walks out of the kitchen after that, leaving him alone with a strange feeling of dread and anxiety crawling out from some long buried part of his being.


	3. I Couldn't Have Done It Without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday y'all. Enjoy the fluff while it lasts...

Clarke’s curled up on the couch on Friday night, looking forward to having the house to herself. Her hair’s up and she’s wearing leggings and an oversized Georgetown University sweatshirt, clad with an embarrassing pair of fuzzy socks. Despite the warm weather outside, her parents keep the AC blasting through the spring and summer months. She’s ten minutes into the movie _Scream_ , and couldn’t be happier.

Soon she hears the familiar pattern of Bellamy bouncing down the stairs - she would recognize it as him even if she didn’t know Octavia was at a sleepover and her parents were at a school fundraiser and wouldn't be returning until late. He just finished pitching another winning game for the Arkadian Novas and Clarke assumes he's heading out for the night. 

Clarke hears him walk into the kitchen behind her and the familiar pop of the fridge door opening.

“Where’s Octavia tonight?” he calls. She hears the fridge shut and him rummaging through the cupboards.

“She’s at Fox’s for the night,” she answers, eyes never leaving the TV.

She loves all horror movies, even the cheesier slasher genres. Maybe  _especially_ the cheesier slasher genres. A minute later she hears Bellamy munching on chips, standing behind the couch, and finally turns to glance at him. She doesn’t bother to pause the movie - she’s seen it more times than she can count.

She’s surprised to see him in an old t-shirt, wearing his wayfarer reading glasses that he never leaves the house in and sweatpants that hang too low on his hips for her comfort. He’s absorbed by the movie, absently popping chips into his mouth.

“What are you doing here? Doesn’t Trina have some huge party tonight?” she asks. After a moment, he tears his eyes from the screen and turns his attention to her, swallowing a mouthful of chips.

“Yea well, it’s been a long week...and Roma’s going to be there. She’s pissed at me for ending...whatever that was.” He shrugs. “It’s not worth the drama.” Clarke rolls her eyes at that, but playfully.

“Just exactly how many girls have you cycled through this year?” she teases. He gives her ponytail a light tug in response and she takes a swipe at him over the back of the couch while biting down a smile.

“Just stay away from _my_ friends, okay?” 

Bellamy winks in response.

“No promises there, Princess.” He pauses a moment, as if finally taking her in. “You know,” he continues, “life isn’t a 90s teen rom com. You don’t need some official invitation to show up at these parties. How come you never come? Even your friends cycle through occasionally.” He smirks then. “In fact, Monty and Jasper are usually providing the weed.”

“I just don’t think it’s my scene really. I don’t know if I’d have a good time,” she replies with a shrug. 

“Well, it never hurts to switch it up once in a while, is all I’m saying,” he tells her, but doesn’t push the topic any further. She just nods, knowing he’s probably right, and turns back towards the TV.

“Is this one of those awful horror movies you love so much?”

“Yea, it’s the first in the Scream series,” she answers, eyes still locked on the TV screen. He stands there for another moment, popping another chip in his mouth.

“Can I...do you mind if I watch with you?” he eventually asks. Clarke tries to hide her surprise when she turns to look at him again. This is definitely a first. He doesn’t even hang out here with her when Octavia is with her, let alone...alone. But hey, things have been pretty civil between them since their kitchen conversation. Less awkward, even.

“Yea sure. I’ll restart it,” she says, reaching for the remote. “Really, I don’t mind,” she adds, when it looks like he’s about to protest. Bellamy settles in on the opposite end of the couch, leaving a solid distance between them.

To Clarke’s entertainment, Bellamy actually becomes pretty invested in the movie. He yells at the characters for all their stupid decisions, groans at the gruesome parts, laughs with her at the parts that should be scary but are just...too 90s. About an hour into the film, she lays down on her side, keeping her legs tucked in to leave Bellamy with enough space.

“You can stretch out your legs if you want. I don’t mind,” he tells her quietly. Clarke glances up at him but he’s still looking at the screen. For a moment she wonders if she imagined him saying it. She has every intention of telling him she’s fine, and is surprised that when she opens her mouth “Okay, thanks” comes out instead.

Bellamy lifts her legs onto his lap, currently covered by a throw blanket, his own feet perched on the ottoman in front of him. His hand rests on her calf, and she can feel the heat radiating through the thin cloth of her leggings. It’s comforting in a way she never thought it could be. It’s...grounding. It can’t be more than ten minutes later when she feels her eyes growing heavy. Only a few minutes after that, she drifts into darkness, the feel of his warm hand the last thing on her mind.

\--∞--

Bellamy glances at her when he hears a light snore coming from his left. Clarke’s mouth is slightly agape and she’s passed out...hard. He smiles at the sight. She looks relaxed in a way he never sees when she’s awake, always wound too tight.

When Bellamy decided to ditch the party, he figured he’d spend the night reading in his room. But then he saw Clarke, and something about watching a movie with her felt more appealing than a Friday alone in his room. It _definitely_ felt more appealing than getting drunk and in an inevitable argument with Roma.

It’s exhausting, he thinks, feeling like he has to show up at every party. As if he has to be _on_ at all times. _I just don’t think it’s my scene really_ , she had said earlier. He understands that all too well. He doesn’t know if it’s really _his_ scene either, but there he is just about every weekend.

It’s freeing, this new friendship.

 _Can he call it that though_ ? he ponders, but there isn't really a better word for it.

Clarke’s seen the worst of him already, so he doesn’t feel the need to try so hard with her. It’s like her opinion of him can only go up. If he’s being honest - and he _never_ thought he’d feel this way - he had more fun laughing with her at this dumb (but admittedly somehow fantastic) movie than he would have had with the whole crowd at Trina’s party.

Her legs are still in his lap and he absentmindedly strokes his hand gently across her calf. Suddenly that dread he felt after their conversation in the kitchen a few days ago bleeds back into him; he freezes his hand immediately. His stomach flips, a cold panic seeping through him. Maybe them hating each other was the only thing that kept his childhood feelings from growing into more. Suddenly, it’s like they’re creeping up on him again out of nowhere, only worse because he’s sixteen and feeling a hell of a lot differently than he did as a ten year old.

 _Maybe this truce is a mistake_ , he thinks. But then he looks at her and knows it’s probably too late anyways. Whatever he’s feeling isn’t going to just disappear if he picks a fight with her. Besides, he’s almost certainly overreacting. Hell, just because she’s cute doesn’t mean they can’t be _friends_ of sorts, although it’s clear they’ll never be siblings. At least not where he’s concerned.

Bellamy gently lifts her feet off his lap and sets them down on the couch, taking the throw blanket he was using to cover her. He can’t help but tuck back a stray piece of hair that’s fallen across her face and basically runs to his room after that, afraid of his own stupidity.

He shuts his door quietly and lays on his bed, thinking about the fact that her room is directly across the hall from him, how they share a wall - his left, her right - and how their windows share the same backyard view.

\--∞--

A few weeks later, it’s the Monday of the last week of school and the school is buzzing with the excitement that always comes with the end of the school year. Finals, their last obstacle between them and freedom, are right around the corner. There’s also the baseball sectional finals and it’s the first time Arkadia High is going into the finals undefeated, let alone making it to the finals at all.

Clarke’s been to a handful of the games, mostly when her friends drag her along, reminding her that her homework will still be there after the game. When she does go, she’s always surprised to find herself having a decent time. They’re not so bad - fun even. The combined enthusiasm from the team and fans is a little bit contagious. If she’s being honest, she also likes watching Bellamy up on the pitching mound, his body thrumming with energy and his face looking much more serious than it does in the classroom.

Clarke’s sitting outside at a picnic table among a small handful of them that are placed in the back of the school facing the soccer fields. It’s not brutally warm today, for once, so Harper and her are enjoying their lunch in the sun. A new transfer student, Emori, is also with them. Harper immediately took her under her wing after hitting it off with her in second period World History.

Emori made her a little nervous at first. Clarke’s not great with new people to begin with, and this girl's blunt and with a classic Tough Girl persona. Yet she turns out to be pretty nice and she likes her so far. Harper and Emori continue to complain about what an asshole Mr. Pike, the gym teacher, is while Clarke studiously reviews her biology notes for her final exam in the afternoon.

A moment later, Clarke turns to her left when she feels someone poke her shoulder, only to miss Bellamy steal a fry and sit down on her right. All their friends seem to freeze, including Miller and Murphy, who followed Bellamy over to their table. They seem as confused as Harper at his decision but sit down at the table with him anyways.

Clarke watches everyone hold their breath, as if they just witnessed Bellamy launch a nuke and are waiting for Clarke to retaliate. Everyone except Emori, who doesn’t say anything but seems a bit confused at the sudden change in mood. Clarke glares at Bellamy, who’s wearing his Popular Athlete Bellamy smirk, fry still sticking out of his mouth.

To everyone’s further confusion, Clarke simply snatches the rest of the fry out of his mouth and tells him to get his own. She elbows him in the stomach, but with no real spite behind the gesture. Harper is the first to speak.

“Okay...who are you, and what have you done with Clarke and Bellamy?”

“We have a _truce_ now,” Clarke responds in a mock serious voice, as if she’s talking about something as significant as the declaration of independence. “You can thank Ms. Cartwig, and the fact neither of us felt like failing Chemistry lab this semester.” Harper looks at them a bit disbelieving and checks her nonexistent watch.

“So...only took you guys about five years to decide that might be a reasonable thing to do?”

Miller, a witness to their classroom truce, laughs at that.

“It’s true," he says. "No explosions have come from their table. I’m _amazed_ they haven’t managed to burn down the room yet.” Everyone laughs at that, probably because they all agree with him, Clarke and Bellamy most of all.

“So...you guys are coming to the game Friday, right?” Murphy asks. Except the only one he seems to be looking at is Emori, who despite her Tough Girl persona, is clearly biting down on her lip to avoid smiling at him.

 _Good luck with that_ , thinks Clarke. Murphy’s got a reputation. Not just with girls but with...well just about everything.

“We’ll definitely be there - and at Atom’s party afterwards. Right, Clarke?” Harper responds, looking pointedly at Clarke. Clarke glares at her in response, not appreciating her attempt to pressure her into going now that there’s a crowd present.

“I said _maybe_ ,” Clarke corrects her. "I  _might_ go to the party."

“We've hear that before. Somehow it always morphs into a big no," Harper argues. "Bellamy - tell her it’s a condition of this little brother-sister _truce_ that she has to come to the party. Not to mention we’ll all be done with our finals by then. You've really got no excuses left Clarke.” Clarke feels herself cringe a little at Harper’s “brother-sister” label. She glances at Bellamy. If he has any objection to it, he doesn’t show it on his face. Instead, Bellamy makes a show of looking at Harper conspiratorially.

“I don’t think the Princess knows how to have a good time, I wouldn’t waste your breath.”

Clarke _knows_ that he doesn’t mean it as an insult like he might have months ago. She _knows_ he's just baiting her like he used to when he wanted to start a fight. Except now it’s to get her to join them - including him - at a party and not for his sheer enjoyment.

She knows this tactic well. Still, it’s like emotional muscle memory to prove Bellamy wrong and she can’t help it. Friends or enemies, Bellamy still knows how to get to her like only he can.

“Why does everyone act like I’m such a downer? I can be _fun_ ,” she argues. Bellamy only steals a fry in response and stands up to leave, Murphy and Miller following suite.

“Then put your money where your mouth is Princess!” he calls over his shoulder once he’s already walking away. Because it’s a challenge from Bellamy, she knows she will.

\--∞--

On Wednesday, Clarke is sitting in Chemistry while Ms. Cartwig reviews the answers to the study guide for their final exam. Yesterday, they found out they managed an A on their lab grade, but still have to make it through the course final exam on Friday. Coincidentally, it's also the day of Bellamy’s big game. Clarke doesn’t think anyone was more surprised at their ability to work together and their subsequent grade than Ms. Cartwig (except maybe the two of them) but at least it was a good kind of surprise. Maybe she suspected they would do okay from the very beginning. Clarke likes to think their teacher wouldn’t set them up for failure, punishment or not, but still...it was risky to bet on it.

When they told their parents about the lab grade over dinner last night, huge smiles broke across their faces. Clarke never would have guessed in a million years Bellamy and her would be the reason for that. Tears sure, but never smiles. Clarke knows the smiles were probably less about the singular grade and more about the fact that the house hasn’t felt like a complete war zone for the first time in years. No one comments on it directly though, as if their newfound peace will disappear like a mirage if anyone scrutinizes it, Bellamy and Clarke included.

Since their conversation in the kitchen weeks ago, they never really _talked_ about the fact that they’re getting along now. There's not really a need to - it’s not like they go out of their way to hang out together. But like their movie night, their living situation makes it so they now find themselves hanging out more by pure coincidence, since they aren’t actively avoiding one another anymore.

_One night, Bellamy crashes a movie night with Octavia and Clarke, hopping over the back of the larger couch Clarke is sitting on. He lays down and puts his feet up on her lap, smirking as if daring her to say something about it. She just rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at him, occasionally pinching his calf when he least expects it. Octavia gives them a bit of a confused look when he joins them, but her eyes are back on the TV a moment later. Like their parents, she chooses to enjoy the peace rather than question it. Clarke guesses if she had no desire to mediate their screaming matches, she probably doesn’t care to involve herself in their truce._

_Another night, on a Sunday evening, Bellamy’s lounging in the living room bored when he sees Clarke lacing up her sneakers for a run. He asks, a little hesitantly, if he can join her._

_“Try to keep up,” is her response, a smirk on her face. Bellamy rolls his eyes at her, thinking he obviously has her beat when it comes to athletics. To Clarke’s delight, Bellamy’s endurance isn’t as great as his sprinting and by mile 5 he’s struggling to keep up with her._

_Another night after that, Clarke is sitting on the roof outside of her bedroom window. It slants downward at a slight angle but is flat enough to sit on comfortably and faces West, making it the perfect place to watch spring sunsets like the one gracing the sky that night._

_Clarke often sits out there sketching or sometimes just getting some fresh air and enjoying a moment to herself with her headphones in. It’s a little while after dinner that night and Clarke is sitting with her back against the house, facing the backyard, with her face buried in her sketchbook._

_Bellamy crawls out of his own window, right next to Clarke’s. She knows he uses the roof as an escape route to sneak out on weeknights and when he doesn’t want to worry about a curfew on the weekends, and that their parents are none the wiser. Rather than continuing onwards and scaling down the side of the house like he usually does, he stops when he notices her and walks over to her. He plops down to her left, cross-legged and facing her._

_“What are you drawing” he asks, nodding towards her sketchbook. She closes it quickly before he can take a peak and he gives her a pointed look._

_“It’s private. Where are you running off to?”_

_He smirks at her in response. “It’s private.”_

_She angles herself so she’s facing him head on, crossed legs matching his. Her sketchbook now safe from his prying eyes, she goes back to drawing. “We both know it’s not,” she says, her voice flat, without looking up from her sketchbook. She expects him to quip back at her, but he turns away from her to rest his back against the wall in the same position she was sitting in before, facing the sunset and backyard._

_“No, it’s not,” he agrees, with the same bored tone she used. “I’m going to meet up with Bree at a fire. Some other people too but...mostly Bree.”_

_Clarke smirks, but doesn’t look up or stop drawing._ _“You’re latest conquest.”  It’s a statement, not a question, but he nods anyways._

_“I’m always using this window to sneak out, I never just sit out here like this,” he tells her, gazing at the orange sky. The air is a comfortable kind of warm at dusk, typical during a Carolina spring before the summer heat makes even the night unbearable. The sun is on it’s way down and Clarke can hear the cicadas in their backyard trees and see a few lightning bugs dance across the back lawn._

_Clarke finally looks up at him. He’s resting his head back against the wall and staring straight ahead towards the backyard, the sun casting gold over his already tan skin._

_“Yea, it’s really something,” she murmurs, trying to memorize the way the evening sun makes his freckles reflective, like stars on a canvas. She itches for a paint brush to capture the moment before it inevitably fades from her memories. She looks back down at her drawing quickly before he can catch her staring, but she can feel his own gaze on her a moment later while she works._

_Twenty minutes later, she comments that Bree is surely missing him, but he just shrugs like he doesn’t care._

_“You're an a_ _ss,” she replies, and he just laughs in response. She doesn’t push it though, realizing she kind of wants him to stay there with her instead._

_They end up sitting like that for hours that evening, just talking while the sun goes down and long after the stars come out. He asks her why she runs alone instead of with the track or cross country team, and she explains how it’s a mental escape for her and she doesn’t like the idea of turning it into a competition._

_She asks him if he’s nervous about Friday’s game, and he admits he’s afraid of letting down the team. He tells her how he feels like he’s not sure he’d be so well-liked by everyone if he was bad at sports or if he wasn’t always the fun one in a crowd._

_She tells him about how worried she is to visit her mother this summer, and meet her fiance, because she feels like their strained relationship is her own fault._

_He tells her how worried he is for Octavia to start high school in the fall - how he feels like he needs to keep an eye on her at all times and will never relax thinking of all the trouble she could get into._

This vulnerable Bellamy she's gotten to know over the past few weeks is new to her, but it’s the one she sees as she watches his face fall with every answer Ms. Cartwig reviews on the study guide.

“Fuck,” she hears him mutter to himself as he scribbles something down next to the question. She looks down at her entirely correct study guide, feeling a little bit bad if only because she knows the material comes quite easily to her, even if she does put in a few more hours of studying than Bellamy does on an average week.

The bell rings just as Ms. Cartwig finishes reviewing the last question and the class hurries to pack up. Bellamy looks frazzled as he packs up his books, dropping a few papers in his attempt to move quickly.

“I’m _fucked_ for this exam,” he tells her, bending down to collect the papers off the ground. “So much for my lab grade. It won’t do me any good when it’s paired with a failing course grade.” He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture Clarke has long known means he’s stressed, even before they talked on a regular basis. They walk into the hallway side by side as they try to make it to their lockers in the crowded hallway.

“I know we don’t have much time,” Clarke starts, “but I can help you study tonight and-”

Before she can finish her thought, John Mbege passes them, giving Bellamy that mix of a high five and hand shake that all high school boys with lettermans seem to be experts at. Clarke watches as Bellamy’s face transforms from pure stress to an easy smile and that smirk all the girls seem to love (except her, of course), as he tells Mbege how they’re going to kick ass at the game on Friday. He says it like there’s no doubt in his mind.

She begins to walk away, leaving them to chat, but he’s calling her name and back in step with her a moment later.

“Do you mean that? Would you mind?” he asks.

“Of course,” she replies, schooling her own face into a neutral expression. She wonders if maybe Bellamy’s not the only one with a talent for acting. “I mean, I can’t promise much with only two more nights to study. I’m not sure cramming even works but…” she trails off.

“But it’s better than nothing,” he agrees.

\--∞--

Clarke and Bellamy go to the diner that night to study, sitting at a booth next to the front windows. Clarke notices the happy look on Aurora’s face as she sneaks glances at them. Whether it’s because Bellamy is actually sitting down to study, or because the two of them are actually getting along well enough to study _together_ , or some combination of both, she can’t tell.

Clarke quizzes Bellamy with flashcards and patiently ( _very_ patiently, she thinks) explains twice over, sometimes thrice, the concepts he doesn’t understand. It’s hard to get him to sit down long enough to study; Clarke realizes he spends a good amount of time bouncing his leg or drumming his fingers, as if nervous about something. Probably the test, she thinks.

Before Clarke knows it, it’s 6pm and Aurora is flipping the OPEN sign on the front door. She sets to work cleaning up and although Bellamy offers to help her three times, she insists he continue studying.

About thirty minutes later, Aurora comes by their booth and sets the keys on the table.

“How’s it going over here?” she asks, her tone a bit anxious as she takes in the piles of books, notebooks, highlighters, and flashcards that are scattered across the table in disarray.

“Having the time of my life,” Bellamy mutters, raking a hand through his hair for what Clarke imagines is the hundredth time since they arrived. Aurora ruffles his hair affectionately.

“Hey now, none of that,” she tells him, but her voice is as warm as always. Clarke admires their relationship, making her feel a sharp pang of guilt as she’s reminded of the situation with her own mother.

“You’re doing _fine_ , Bellamy,” Clarke adds. Aurora smiles at Clarke and gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze, as if in thanks.

“Alright, I’m heading home,” she says after a beat. “Don’t forget to lock up on your way out.”

About an hour after Aurora leaves, Bellamy slides out of the booth and stands up at the front of their table.

“I think we deserve a break,” he says, stretching his arms above his head so that his t-shirt rises up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin. It makes Clarke turn away quickly, eyes back on her notes, before she can consider why.

“We don’t really have time for a break,” she chides without looking up. “We only have two days to make sure you understand this.”

He leans forward towards her, his hands on the end of the table.

“15 minutes will not make or break my grade Clarke, I can promise you that.” She finally looks up to glare at him, but he won’t break eye contact, a challenge in his eyes. Suddenly it feels all too intimate for all the wrong reasons; she’s the first to look away. After a beat, Clarke clears her throat.

“Fine. _Just_ 15 minutes though,” she tells him.

“Fantastic, that’s all we need,” he answers, his tone a bit mischievous. For one horrifying moment, Clarke thinks he’s referring to something else completely. She flushes red until he pushes away from the table and heads to the freezer, pulling out different cartons of ice cream.

 _Get a grip_ , she scolds herself. Bellamy doesn’t seem to notice her momentary embarrassment.

“Chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry?” he asks, his back to her still.

10 minutes later, they’re sharing a giant sundae with a scoop of all three. Clarke sits on a stool at the counter while Bellamy stands behind the counter across from her, leaning forward so that his elbows are resting on its surface.

“How can you _not_ like caramel sauce?” she argues. Bellamy twists his face in disgust at her.

“Coming from the heathen who doesn’t like hot fudge,” he counters. She throws a chocolate chip at him in response. In the end, they put both caramel _and_ hot fudge on the sundae instead of neither.

They’re silent for a few moments, occasionally fighting for a specific spoonful of the sundae, chasing the other away with their own spoon. When Clarke looks up, the first thing she notices is a smudge of chocolate on the corner of Bellamy’s upper lip. Without thinking, she reaches out to wipe it off with her thumb but her hand stops mid air when she sees Bellamy looking past her as if his mind is worlds away. Her hand brings him back to Earth, but she brings it back down immediately in embarrassment.

“Sorry, you uh...you just have a bit of chocolate-” Clarke starts awkwardly, pointing at his mouth. He laughs and takes a napkin, wiping at his mouth but somehow still missing it.

“Good?” he asks. She shakes her head, apparently unable to form words. She leans over to scrape it off with the edge of her nail like she had been planning to before, trying to ignore the goosebumps that bloom up her arms when she feels how soft his lip is.

“Got it,” she tells him, trying to keep her voice light and airy but failing miserably.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, his face unreadable to her. She hopes the lighting is bad enough that he doesn’t notice how red she’s sure she’s become.

“No problem,” she answers quietly. Neither of them says anything after that, but this time the silence somehow feels loaded in a way it wasn't before.

“What were you thinking about before? You seemed lost for a minute,” she tries, feeling too awkward to let the silence continue. To her surprise, he smiles at her question.

“Actually, I was thinking about how we’re sitting at the same exact booth you sat at with Jake the first time you came here,” he tells her. Her brow furrows in confusion at that.

“I didn’t meet you the first time we came here. It was when we all sat in the corner booth together,” she corrects him. Bellamy looks down, incredibly focused on his spoonful of ice cream as if he’s been caught in a lie or breaking a rule. He shrugs, and this time she thinks it’s him who blushes, but she can't be sure.

“Oh, I uh…” he starts, pausing for a beat. “We didn’t _meet_ the first time you came in but Octavia and I were sitting in the corner booth when you did. I just remember seeing you guys there, that’s all.”

“Oh,” she says, and pops another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, mostly because she doesn’t know what to say next.

“I mean,” he continues, increasingly flustered. “I mean, I only _remembered_ you guys after we all officially met, of course. But then I remembered you guys looking so out of place amongst the locals, that’s all,” he finishes hurriedly.

She laughs lightly at that and she sees his shoulders relax.

“I’d imagine we did,” she agrees. She staring at what’s left of the sundae, but she can feel his gaze on her, as if deciding something.

“But I do remember that you were drawing,” he says finally. “You had a look on your face like you were working on a calculus algorithm instead of drawing a picture.” She’s surprised to hear fondness in his voice and smiles, imagining what she must have looked like to Bellamy.

“You had that same little crease between your eyebrows that you still get when you’re concentrating really hard or are frustrated.” He reaches out and gives her a light tap between her eyebrows. “Right there,” he says with a light laugh.

Once again, the moment suddenly feels too much, too intimate. She feels too seen and wishes she could crawl back inside herself. It’s a familiar feeling for her.

“Yeah, well if I look like that when I’m frustrated then of course you’d be familiar with it,” she blurts quickly, deflecting. She instantly regrets it when she she looks up and sees his face. His smile disappears, almost as if he’s hurt. She opens her mouth to tell him she’s just joking, but he lets out a forced laugh, a little harsh, before she can.

“Yeah, yeah. Well...we should probably get back to the flashcards,” he says, bringing the ice cream dish to the sink even though they still had a few spoonfuls left.

They study for another two hours. Although he’s friendly enough, by no means cool or distant, she can’t help but notice how he doesn’t crack as many jokes, doesn’t smirk at her as often as he usually does. Their car ride home is silent, only the radio humming at a low volume amongst the crickets.

\--∞--

It’s Friday morning and Clarke finishes her test with ease. She has twenty minutes left so she begins going through the test once more, double checking her answers as she always does. Oddly enough, she spends more time worrying about Bellamy’s grade than her own, glancing at him periodically in a way that probably looks like she’s trying to cheat off of him. She notices him exhibiting his usual nervous habits, but other than that he looks pretty focused.

They spent Thursday night studying in the diner again, staying until nearly midnight going over all the materials. To her relief, he seemed back to his usual self compared to the end of Wednesday night, making her to think it was probably her own nerves causing her to read more into his behavior than she should have. Still, the only breaks they take on Thursday are to make coffee, and they drink it back in the booth while going over their notes.

Clarke sees him hand in his exam five minutes before the bell rings, watching as he breathes out a sigh of relief when he walks back to the table.

“So, what’d you think?” she asks him after the bell rings, spilling into the hallway amongst the rest of their classmates.

“Honestly...it wasn’t terrible. I can’t even think about it anymore today though, my focus has to be on the game tonight.”

“I’m sure you did great, you worked really hard Bellamy,” she tells him as he peels off towards his locker.

“Thanks,” he answers with a small smile, as if embarrassed by the compliment. She continues onwards toward her own locker when she hears him call her name again.

“Yeah?” she asks, spinning around to face him without walking all the way back.

“You’re still coming to the game tonight, right?” he calls.

“Wouldn’t miss it!” she calls back, already heading further down the hall into the sea of students.

\--∞--

Bellamy rolls the ball up and down his leg, waiting for the next batter to step up to the plate. The field lights feel too bright to him tonight, even though they’re the same as they always are. The team and field are illuminated in such a way that he can’t really see the crowds in the stands. They end up looking more like massive moving shadows. It makes Bellamy feel like he’s a bug on a petri dish under a microscope like the ones they studied in Biology last year.

They’re up by two runs, but it’s a much closer game than he would have liked. The team is working harder than ever to stay ahead, but he likes the challenge. Competition drives him forward instead of scaring him off. This is the fifth batter. Two runners on first and second, one strike out, and one tagged out on first. He knows if he doesn’t make this a strike out, one of those runners is probably making it home.

He picks up a handful of dirt, rubbing it in his hands as the batter steps up to the plate. He’s riding high tonight - he’s _ready_ for this win. Ms. Cartwig found him in the afternoon and told him he got a B+ on his exam, a huge relief lifted off his shoulders going into the game.

Then there’s Clarke. _Clarke_ . The reason he got that grade. The flash of blonde he makes a point of finding every time he runs on or off the field. She makes him want to do better, to _be_ better. He’s _got_ this.

It’s less than five minutes later when he hears the final snap of Miller’s catching glove, when he hears the umpire bellow, “STRIIKKEEEE THREE.” His team is on him in seconds, rushing the mound. They hug him and cheer while they slap his back and ruffle his hair, his hat long gone to the madness.

They shake hands with the opposing team and receive their trophy - a first for their baseball team, to be immortalized in the hallway case. Finally the players begin to trickle off the field to meet friends and family, who look almost as happy and overwhelmed as they do. He finds his family a few feet away from the home team bleachers, Octavia standing with Jake and his mom.

“Congrats big brother!” she squeals, squeezing him tightly once he makes it over to them.

“I’m so proud of you, honey,” his mother coos, pulling him into a hug before Octavia can even let go.

“Alright, alright, give the boy some space,” Jake says finally, with a huge smile on his face. Once they do, Jake gives him a firm handshake and there’s real pride in his eyes. “That was some game. Some season actually! I’m proud of you, Son.”

Bellamy smiles and thanks him, his face flushing a little at the compliment. He doesn’t know where it comes from, and it only lasts for a second, but something about Jake’s smile makes his throat swell with grief. Moments like these, he wishes his own Dad was around to see him succeed. To be as proud of him as Jake is. He's glad he has Jake, but it's just not the same.

They’re in the same spot chatting a few minutes later when he gets a glimpse of the blonde hair he’s been looking for the whole game suddenly running towards him at full speed. He barely has time to take her in before she’s barreling into him with a hug that nearly knocks him over. It takes a second for his body to react, but when it does he wraps his arms around her tightly, lifting her off the ground slightly.

“There’s something I never thought I’d see,” Octavia comments, and he hears his mom and Jake chuckling at that.

“You’re telling me,” Jake adds, making him suddenly feel uneasy in a way he can’t place. _Guilt_ , he thinks. Clarke takes a step back, rolling her eyes lightly but otherwise ignoring them.

“That was _amazing_ Bellamy. You were - the team was fantastic,” she tells him, her smile as wide as his own.

“Thanks,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck a bit nervously. As weird as it is, as _excited_ as he is about their big win, it’s not the accomplishment he’s most proud of today. For some reason, Clarke’s the only one he wants to share his real win with.

“We’re going to go catch up with the others,” he tells his family, pointing behind him to where most of the high school is talking in various groups around the field and in the stands.

“Go, go, enjoy the night, be young,” Aurora urges them, waving them on. Bellamy hugs his mom once more and ruffles Octavia’s hair, laughing as she yells at him and pushes him away.

They’ve only walked a few feet when Bellamy tells her the news, too excited to keep it to himself.

“So, Ms. Cartwig came to find me this afternoon. Wanted me to go into the game without any worries or something I guess but...Clarke, I got a B+ on the exam.” She turns to him, smile even wider than before. For a moment he forgets how rare that smile is, given how often he’s been able to pull them out of her in the past month.

“I’m so proud of you, Bell,” she tells him, stiffening a bit as the new nickname slips out, apparently by accident. _Bell_ , he thinks. His stomach does a flip at that. He opens his mouth to respond, but she beats him to it.

“I’m going to go talk to Monroe,” she says hurriedly. “About the party,” she adds as an afterthought, as if she needs an excuse to talk to her friend. He smirks at how flustered she is, but she’s already leaving his side.

She quickly disappears into the crowd, but not before calling “Congrats again!” at him over her shoulder.

He watches her go with the words  _I couldn't have done it without you, Clarke_  dying on the tip of his tongue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're still enjoying it! I'm aiming to get the next chapter out by Sunday night. Clarke's heading to her first party, and the angst begins...


	4. Alone, Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for underage drinking and what could be triggering for sexual assault.

Clarke’s nestled in between Harper and Jasper in one of the hard, bright orange booths at Dropship Pizza. It's her friends’ choice of dinner pretty much every Friday night since they were 12. The actual pizza at Dropship makes up for all of their failure in presentation. The place looks like it hasn’t been remodeled since the 70s and the only decor they boast are old black and white framed photos of Dropship dating back to its opening in the 40s. Still, Clarke would seriously fight someone for the last piece of their supreme pizza.

The group, which now includes Emori, is half way through demolishing a cheese, a supreme, a Hawaiian, and three orders of fries, while they excitedly discuss the game and the fact they’re finally _free_ , their Freshman year officially behind them. Clarke’s a bit lost in thought as she nibbles on her second piece and everyone chatters around her.

She’s thinking of Bellamy. If she's being honest with herself, she’s been doing a lot of that recently. Right now, she’s thinking of the strange look he had on his face when she basically sprinted away from him, after calling him Bell.

 _Bell?_ _Where did that come from? Since when do they have nicknames for each other?_ she ponders to herself.

 _Oh wait, w_ _e don’t have nicknames for_ _each other , _she correct.  _That would imply he’s as embarrassing as me, and that’s just never been the case._

But his face when she left looked...Disappointed? Yet, when she glanced in his direction ten minutes later, she spotted him laughing with Miller, his arm around Bree.

 _No_ , Clarke scolds herself. _You’re just overthinking things per usual because you still don’t know what to do with the fact that you and Bellamy are actually friends. Just chill the fuck out, Clarke._

“Earth to Clarke,” Monroe calls, waving her hand in front of Clarke's face. “Where’d you go?”

“Sorry! I’m just out of it. It’s been a long week.”

“Well snap out of it, because we haven’t even _celebrated_ yet,” Harper tells her, conspiratorially elbowing her lightly. _Right_. _Atom’s party._ Despite Clarke’s usual nerves about these kinds of events, she's actually finding herself excited. Why _not_ let loose a little? The school year’s over, she’s young and celebrating with her friends. She wants to start the summer off right.

“Is Bellamy going to be there?” Monroe asks, grinning a little.

“God I hope so,” Harper replies. “I might post up in the corner with a drink and just stare at him tonight,” she adds, laughing.

“Can I join you?” Maya asks, leaning around Jasper.

“Hey now,” he scolds, playfully poking her.

“Kidding, I’m kidding,” she laughs. “Well...mostly,” she corrects a second later. The rest of the girls laugh at that, Jasper and Monty just rolling their eyes.

“Sorry Clarke,” Harper says when their laughing dies down. It’s only then that Clarke realizes she wasn’t laughing with the rest of them. “I know it grosses you out when we go on about Bellamy. But at least you don’t hate him anymore! Now it’s just us talking about your hot brother. Not your hot, _asshole_ of a brother.”

Clarke rolls her eyes playfully in response, not bothering to correct the label and taking another bite of pizza so she doesn’t have to say anything. A strange feeling blooms in Clarke’s stomach at Harper’s apology. A unique concoction of guilt for decidedly _not_ thinking it’s gross to think about how hot Bellamy is (Clarke three months ago would be astonished at that assessment) and jealousy of the rest of them because they’re _allowed_ to think Bellamy’s hot. Actually, they’re allowed to do more than think about it, they’re allowed to _do_ something about it. Clarke puts her piece of pizza down, suddenly no longer hungry.

Her face feels hot, but Emori unintentionally saves her from any further attention.

“So...what’s John Murphy's deal anyways?” she asks with a smirk. Everyone groans in response, Harper even throwing a french fry at her. But to Emori’s credit, she isn’t scared off so easily.

“C’mon, really though!” she yells, a bit exasperated. So Harper starts by launching into the story of how Murphy _accidentally_ \- Harper includes air quotes around the word - set fire to the teacher’s lounge last fall.

\--∞--

When Bellamy arrives at the party, it’s already in full swing at just 9:30pm.

“Hey man.” Atom greets him with a handshake as Bellamy walks through the front door into the living room and towards the kitchen. A junior who plays second base, Atom still looks just as hyped up from the game as Bellamy feels. Luckily for his classmates, Atom’s parents already took off for their summer beach house last week. They didn’t even bother to watch Atom’s last game, but given the smile on Atom’s face and solo cup in his hand, he doesn’t seem all too bothered by that.  

Similar to the game, Bellamy finds himself absentmindedly looking for that same flash of blonde in the crowd. After the game, Clarke went to grab dinner with her friends while Bellamy ran home to clean up. His parents gave them an extended curfew of 1am, and he feels on top of the world tonight. He approaches the bar, which is really just a ton of cheap liquor and a keg on the kitchen island, when he thinks he sees her.

The blonde is pouring a drink, but he realizes quickly that it’s Bree, not Clarke, before she even turns around. When she does, she catches him staring and saunters over to him, all confidence. He tries to tell himself he’s excited, not disappointed, that it’s Bree instead. They flirt for a bit and play a game of flip cup in what is probably the dining room, but the actual table has been replaced by a plastic folding one. He just tapped out of the game and is heading back towards the bar for a refill when he sees Clarke and her friends show up about thirty minutes later.

Bellamy takes her in the way he couldn’t during the excitement of the post-game. She’s sporting faded white converse with high waisted cut off jean shorts hugging her hips, and a black tank top that dips a little too low in the front for his comfort. Her hair is down tonight in messy waves he knows are natural, instead of in that half-up do she usually sports.

Bellamy’s not surprised when they all immediately head towards the bar; he knows it’s Harper's first stop at every party.

“Hey guys.” He greets them collectively, trying to appear nonchalant and trying incredibly hard not to look directly at Clarke. He doesn’t trust that his eyes won’t automatically drop to her cleavage.

Bellamy shakes hands with Monty and Jasper and they give him a joint, which he accepts happily. Now that the season’s over, he can indulge a little more than usual tonight. Finally, he pours himself the drink he originally came over for. When he turns around, he realizes everyone else has scattered, leaving just him and Clarke standing next to the island. Alone, together.

He looks around to see Monty giving Atom a joint, Jasper and Maya on their way to the couch to makeout, and Harper and Monroe joining the game of flip cup he just left. He smirks when he sees Murphy and Emori talking before finally turning his attention to Clarke, smiling at her as a greeting.

Despite her hair and outfit, he’s surprised to see she’s still got that closed off, high and mighty Princess expression on her face.

“They drag me to a party, and I’m immediately abandoned,” Clarke says, laughing lightly. Her tone holds only affection for her crazy friends, as if she’s accustomed to being the sober friend taking care of all the rest.

“Why don’t you grab a drink? You look like you could use one,” he tells her with a smile.

She nods in agreement. “These things aren’t exactly my scene...I could use more than one.”

“Alright then,” he laughs, already turning around towards the bar. “Then let’s have more than one.” He hands her a shot of vodka and pours himself an identical one. She eyes it suspiciously but before she can argue with him - which he knows is coming - he cuts her off. “Just trust me on this. This is _my_ area of expertise.”

She smirks but obeys and they knock back the shot together. He smiles at the way she attempts to school her face, pretending it didn’t taste like gasoline, like drinking is another thing she has to excel at. She lets out a little cough despite her efforts and he can’t help but laugh.

She glares at him, an intense look in her eyes that makes him think she would be an excellent lawyer...or drill sergeant.

“What?” she asks defensively, as if daring him to say something about it. He doesn’t take the bait.

“Nothing Princess, I’m just having a good time is all,” he says with his hands up in defense. She rolls her eyes, knowing he was laughing at her.

“Fine. Are you ready for round two or do you need a break?” she challenges, a mischievous glint in her eye as she turns around to pour them another round.

“Bring it on,” he tells her, the same challenge mirrored in his own eyes. They down their second round, and Bellamy wonders if he’s created a monster.

\--∞--

An hour later, Bellamy is at the flip cup table with Clarke, Miller, Miller's boyfriend Bryan, Trina, Bree, and a number of other classmates. The room is smoky and loud, and he’s actually having a pretty good time. There’s a carelessness in the air that comes with the beginning of summer and he just wants to give into it.

As soon as Bree flips her solo cup, Bellamy’s chugging the cheap beer and lining up his own on the edge of the table. He’s pretty decent at drinking games, probably something to do with the whole _practice makes perfect_ mentality, and manages to flip it over in two tries. He’s partnered across the table with Trina, who’s followed by Clarke. When he looks up, Clarke is chugging her beer like a pro, like she’s at one of these parties every weekend. She’s paired across the table with Finn Collins, who seems to be paying more attention to Clarke than flipping his cup. By the time he succeeds, Clarke’s team has already one.

Bellamy casts an irritated glance at Finn and is surprised to see he’s smiling at Clarke high fiving her teammates, as if he cares more about watching her than losing the game. He tries to restrain himself from physically rolling his eyes at the guy.

Bellamy knows Finn in the vague way that everyone knows each other at Arkadia High, or in Arkadia in general. Since there’s only about 80 kids per class, and they live in a town with a population of about 6,000 people, he knows who Finn is. They've been in the same class together since kindergarten, but he's more into music and the hipster scene than sports. He’s just never really clicked with the guy.

It’s not that he doesn’t _like_ him, exactly. Hell, he’s been dating one of his good friends Raven for two years now and he likes to think he respects Raven’s opinion of him enough to not _dislike_ him. Still, something about him has always rubbed him the wrong way. It definitely doesn’t help his opinion when he sees the way he’s eyeing Clarke, as if Raven doesn’t exist. Though, as scummy as it is to be looking, he doesn’t think he’ll do anything about it. Finn and Raven have been tied at the hip for as long as he can remember, long before they started dating. It’s just....irritating. To say the least.

After the game, Bree takes his hand and pulls him into a corner of the dining room. She grabs his face, pulling his lips down to meet her and he gives in quickly, grabbing her waist to pull her in closer. When they come up for air a few minutes later, he looks behind her to see Clarke and Finn still talking near the flip cup table. It’s as if Clarke senses his gaze because her eyes meet his a moment later, the goofy, buzzed smile on her face disappearing as she takes him in. He looks away quickly, bringing Bree in for another kiss, embarrassed to have been caught looking. _She was looking at you too_ , he thinks. Suddenly, he wants to be as far away from Clarke as possible.

“Hey, let’s go out to the truck,” he murmurs into Bree’s ear as she nibbles on his. She takes his hand in response, leading him towards the front door. He sneaks a glance at where he last saw Clarke, but this time she’s gone.

\--∞--

Clarke walks back towards the bar, determined to wash away the image of Bellamy and Bree now etched into her mind. Her stomach feels sour just thinking about it. Finn follows her over to the bar, apparently keen on continuing their conversation.

Clarke doesn’t know much about Finn. He’s in the class above hers, and she’s pretty sure he’s still dating Raven Reyes. Raven’s a catch, to say the least. She’s the smartest in her class, a three sport athlete like Bellamy, a gorgeous girl with long tanned legs and the confidence to match her beauty. Wherever she is tonight, it’s not with her boyfriend.

Clarke takes the handle of vodka and pours herself her fourth shot...or is it her fifth? She’s not sure, but she’s never felt so content, so _relaxed_ , and she knows she needs another after catching the Bellamy and Bree show in the corner. _It’s because it’s gross to her...like Harper said_ , she tells herself. _Get a room_ , she had thought when she saw them. But then they headed out the door, doing exactly that, and she decided it was much worse.

“What’s your poison, Clarke?” Finn asks when she turns back toward him with a shot glass of the clear liquid.

“Oh…” she starts a bit awkwardly. “Pretty much anything tonight. It’s been a long semester. But I guess vodka at the moment.” _Why does she sound so lame?_ To her surprise, Finn just pours a shot to match hers.

“I’ll drink to that,” he laughs, lifting the shot glass in a cheers.

“Want to get some air?” he asks after, nodding towards the back door in the kitchen that leads out to a back deck. Clarke nods and follows him out back.

They sit down together on the steps of the deck. There’s a few other people sitting at a table smoking, but they pay no attention to them. Around the same time that Clarke sees Finn looking at her with open admiration in his warm brown eyes, she realizes the alcohol doesn’t hit you instantaneously. Instead, she’s feeling the third and fourth shot catch up with her just now, her head spinning a little too much.

She’s a little weary of Finn beside her, but finds him easy to talk to. It’s nice to have someone look at her like this - like she's wanted. She talks about her art and how crazy it was all those years ago to move down to this tiny town from Washington DC. She feels warmth swirl in her stomach when he asks her questions about her art and talks about making the long drive to Columbia just to visit this hole-in-the-wall record store.

“I’ll bring you with me next time,” he promises. “You’ll definitely love it. There’s this boutique art supply store on the same street.” She smiles at that, finds her gaze being drawn to his lips. She watches the way his gaze on her becomes more serious and an uneasy feeling tugs at her.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” she blurts, the alcohol making her all too blunt. He looks a bit taken aback at her question and her cheeks feel like they're on fire. She takes a long sip of her beer, too embarrassed to look at him.

“Oh...I figured you had heard. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. But yea, uh, Raven and I broke up last week. It just wasn’t working anymore,” he confesses.

“Oh,” she responds, taking another sip. The desire in her lower stomach blooms further, all her concerns erased when she looks up in his eyes and sees how genuine he seems. “I guess I need to keep up with the Arkadia rumor mill a little better.” He laughs lightly and takes her hand in his.

“Listen, I don’t want you to think you’re like a rebound or something. You’re such a cool girl Clarke, I really like you,” he murmurs, his voice soft. The alcohol makes her as confident as it does dizzy. When she looks at him again, she kisses him forcefully, loving the way the taste of his mouth and the alcohol make her feel like she’s in another world, her old problems gone. It's her first kiss, and it's perfect.

He doesn’t hesitate to pull her in closer, deepening the kiss and breaking through her lips with his tongue. The want coils in her lower stomach as he runs a hand from her knee up her bare thigh, sending goosebumps up her arms. All too soon, he pulls away, but only to suggest they go find somewhere more private upstairs.

She doesn’t want to overthink this like she does everything else. She doesn’t want to be the untouchable ice princess anymore...she certainly doesn’t feel like that right now. She just feels alive. She nods before she can talk herself out of it. He stands and pulls her up by the hand. She wavers a bit when she stands, noticing for the first time how it’s hard to focus on him, as if he’s moving a bit in front of her.

If he notices her unsteadiness, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Ready?” he asks. She takes his hand and follows him inside as the fifth shot (she’s pretty sure now that it was her fifth) dissolves in her bloodstream.

\--∞--

Bellamy pulls his t-shirt back on behind the wheel of his truck as Bree shimmies back into her skirt the best she can in the shotgun seat. He smiles at her when she leans in to give him a quick peck before hopping out, but he stays in the truck for a moment as she goes back inside. He always feels like this after. Both a little lonely, despite Bree right next to him, and simultaneously like he can’t wait to get rid of her. He runs a hand through his hair trying to pat it down into something presentable and hops out of the truck a few minutes later.

He’s heading towards the front door when he hears a familiar voice call him from behind. He turns around to see Raven a few steps behind him, heading towards the house.

“Hey Blake,” she greets him, a teasing smile on her face when she takes him in.

"Hey, you made it," he says. She nods, taking him in again.

“Really?” she asks, rolling her eyes playfully. “Who’s the latest victim?”

He flashes a grin in response, but doesn’t answer. She shakes her head at him.

“We’ve got to get you a girl you actually like sober and outside of your truck,” she chides.

“Don’t count on it,” he counters. “I thought you were stuck at work at the shop tonight,” he says as he opens the front door for her, trying to change the topic.

“I _may_ have dropped a few hints to Sinclair that I was missing an end of the year gathering,” she explains, air quoting the word gathering. Bellamy and Raven have worked at the same auto shop together for almost a year now. It's how they became good friends, despite running into each other at parties and knowing each other through school for most of their lives. It’s the same shop his dad was a mechanic at. Sinclair was a mechanic there with his dad and he’s like an uncle to him. Now the owner, there’s still a framed photo of the two of them in the shop from when they started out there in their teenage years.

“He’s such a softie for you,” he complains. She just shrugs and smiles in agreement.

“Where’s Finn at?” she asks as they walk through the living room and into the kitchen, still not seeing him. Pretty much a habit at this point, he does a sweep of the rooms for Clarke as he walks through them. When he doesn’t see her either, a bad feeling makes his skin prickle.

Raven shrugs when he doesn’t answer her, seemingly unconcerned.

“Maybe he’s in the bathroom line upstairs,” she suggests. “I’m going to go check.

Bellamy nods. “I’ve got to go anyways,” he lies. “I’ll come with you.”

\--∞--

Clarke’s on someone’s bed, in someone’s bedroom, with Finn crawling on top of her. She’s still fully clothed and when she looks up at him, she has to make a concerted effort with her eyes to not see two of him.

She hooks her legs around his sides as his hands roam under her shirt, his lips tracing hard kisses down her neck. When she looks up, the ceiling is spinning and all of her senses are filled with Finn. The feel of his lips and hands across her skin, the smell of him, the weight of him. Suddenly, it’s just too much. The heat for him is no longer there and she feels like she’s suffocating.

“Finn,” she gasps weakly. He either doesn’t hear her or ignores her.

“Finn,” she repeats, more loudly this time. His body feels like a weight above her, anchoring her to the bed, drowning her. Real fear spikes through her body for a moment.

Thankfully, he hears her this time. He leans back further to look her in the eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his face confused and a little alarmed. She opens her mouth to say something. To tell him to get off her, that she’s changed her mind, when the door swings open. It bangs against the wall loudly.

“Please tell me you weren’t just about to screw my boyfriend,” she hears someone spit from the doorway while her body is still trapped by Finn’s. She opens her mouth to respond as Finn jumps off of her, as if she’s suddenly poison.

Clarke sees two of everything now. Two of Finn as he chases twin Ravens out of the room. She sees two of Bellamy standing at the doorway, his face filled with concern. His expression suddenly makes her sad. It’s as if she can see how pathetic she must look through his eyes.

“Clarke, are you-” he starts, walking towards her. She’s still sitting on the bed.

“I’m fine Bellamy,” she snaps at him. Her face becomes flushed with embarrassment at the situation. She hates how vulnerable she feels with him standing in front of her, how stupid she must look.

She stands up to walk away from him, out of this terrible room, but falters when she tries. Bellamy’s at her side in an instant, steadying her with an arm around her waist.

“Hey, just wait a minute Clarke. Sit down for a-” he tries.

“Bellamy, I’m fine, it’s fine,” she cuts him off. “I’m going to go find Harper,” she adds, pushing him away and heading through the door. He’s back at her side in an instant.

“Clarke, let’s get you some water, okay?” he tries again. His voice is more gentle than she’s ever heard it, like he’s talking to a wounded animal. It only makes her angrier. At least the old Bellamy didn’t treat her like she might break.

She’s halfway down the stairs when she spins around to face him.

“I’m not Octavia! I don’t need your misogynistic, protective brother bullshit. I can take care of myself!” When his face morphs into something angry, she feels like she’s both won and lost, and wonders how that can be.

She climbs down the rest of the stairs, gripping the railing tightly to steady herself. She sees Harper on the couch next to the front door. When Harper sees her as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she must notice her expression. She jumps up from the couch quickly to go to her. Suddenly Clarke no longer wants Harper. She embarrassed and angry at herself - she wants no one. She walks out the front door without a word.

Bellamy’s still trailing her and she hears him say something to Harper before following her out the door, but doesn’t catch what it is.

“Clarke! Would you get your ass back here!” he calls at her as she makes her way down the sidewalk down the street and away from the house.

“Where are you going to go?!” he tries again when she doesn’t acknowledge him and continues walking.

“I don’t know!” she yells back, turning to face him, unsure of where this wave of hot red anger in her - at him - is coming from. He’s a few feet behind her and stops when she does.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he asks. She likes that he’s no longer talking to her like she’s about to break. She likes that his voice sounds like he wants to break her instead.

“My problem is that you’ve never given a damn about me. I haven’t needed you in five years, and I sure as _hell_ don’t need you tonight.” She spins back around to storm away from him but her foot catches a raised block on the sidewalk. She feels the sharp, scraping pain on her palms and knees before she even realizes what happened. Bellamy’s already at her side again when she starts to stand up.

“Clarke! Clarke, are you okay?” he asks, his voice all concern again. It's as if the fall physically knocked the fight out of her and she suddenly feels too tired to feel much of anything else. She’s never cried in front of Bellamy Blake in all the years she’s known him, so she blames it on the alcohol this time and labels it an anomaly. Tears escape down her cheeks as she stands, blood trickling down her knees. Her ankle is throbbing.

“I’m fine,” she says finally, her voice catching and the fire gone from it. He doesn’t acknowledge her answer; they both know it’s a lie.

“C’mon,” he says finally, hand on her lower back again. It makes her want to both run and pull him closer.

“Can you walk?” he asks, glancing at her wearily.

She nods. “I think I just twisted it,” she tells him, her voice now soft and tinged with shame over everything. “What about your truck?” she asks after they walk a few feet.

“I’ve had too much to drink, I’ll just pick it up in the morning,” he tells her. She tries to hide the slight limp in her gait as they walk down the street in silence. She doesn’t know what time it is but the tree-lined street is dark and quiet, patches of it illuminated by the occasional street light.

Bellamy looks back at her when he notices she can’t keep up with his slow pace and she sees him watch her wince with every step. He sighs and gestures for her to come closer to him. She raises a brow at him in response.

“Hop on my back. It’ll take forever with you walking at this pace, and you’re just going to fuck up your ankle even more.”

She just looks at him, opens her mouth to refuse, but he cuts her off.

“Please...please don’t fight me on this, for once Clarke” he asks her, his voice sounding as drained as she feels. To the surprise of both of them, she doesn’t. She’s too bone-tired and in addition to her the pain of her injuries, she’s just plain _drunk_.

She wobbles over to him and he hoists her onto his back like she weighs nothing, even though she knows she’s nowhere near as thin as girls like Bree, Roma, or Raven are. His arms lock under her knees and she bounces a bit with each step he takes, her own arms locked around his neck.

Suddenly her eyes are too heavy and she closes them. _Just to rest them, just for a moment,_ she tells herself. The last thing she can feel is Bellamy’s racing heart through his t-shirt under her clasped hands. The last thing she can smell is a smoky pine scent that she’s never been able to recognize as Bellamy’s scent. She slips under, giving in.

\--∞--

 _Leave it to Clarke_ , he thinks, irritated. She comes to one party and blows through it like a damn hurricane. This girl _is_ a damn hurricane. Then he feels her head rest against his shoulder, feels her breath steady against his neck. _Until she’s not_ , he thinks.

Given the circumstances, he tries not to think about how good it feels to have her arms wrapped around him. He tries to ignore the fact that her lips are pressed against his shoulder as she sleeps, the heat shooting through him in a way that makes him hold his breath.

He doesn’t know what happened in that bedroom, but one look at Clarke’s face when he saw her in that room...she looked like a girl lost. He would have run after Finn to kill the bastard himself if he didn’t think whatever Raven had coming for him would be far worse.

He sighs when he reaches the intersection he needs to take a left at to head back to the house. _How the hell am I going to get her through the house looking like this. Drunk as hell, bloodied hands and knees. She can’t even walk straight...both from the ankle and alcohol_. He stands there for a moment, thinking. He sighs again when he makes a decision, turning right instead of left, in the direction of Main Street.

\--∞--

Clarke wakes with a jolt as Bellamy sets her down gently. His hands remain secured at her waist, as if to hold her up.

“Clarke,” he whispers gently. “Can you stand up for a second?”

She nods and leans against the wall behind her, finally taking in her surroundings.

“Why are we here?” she asks as Bellamy works to unlock the door to the diner using the spare Aurora keeps in the small lantern secured to the outside wall next to the front door.

He just shoots her a look, as if the answer is obvious. _Right_ , she thinks, feeling the sting come back to her arms and knees. _Because I'm a damn mess._ She’s still pretty dizzy, the fifteen minute nap not doing much in the way of sobering her up, but at least she isn’t seeing double anymore.

Clarke follows Bellamy through the door as he holds it open for her. When she steps in, she realizes her nausea is more acute now. It was easier to ignore when she could barely see in front of her. Before Bellamy can even shut the door behind them, she’s bolting towards the singular diner bathroom as fast as she can on her bad ankle. She makes it to the toilet just in time to hurl the contents of her stomach into the bowl.

Bellamy’s at her side a second later, combing her hair out of her face.

“You’re okay Clarke. You’re okay, just get it all out,” he murmurs as she heaves forward again. He rubs soothing circles into her back.

“Bellamy, this is disgusting,” she tells him once she can talk again, her voice still breathless. “You don’t have to stay here.”

“Trust me, I’ve seen worse Princess,” he tells her, and she can hear the hint of a smile in his voice, despite everything. She throws up once more, standing shakily a moment later. Bellamy gives her some space once she convinces him she can stand on her own. He walks out of the bathroom, leaving her to swish water in her mouth. She desperately wishes she had some toothpaste but feels a hundred times better than she did 15 minutes ago. She splashes some cold water on her face and tries to wipe away the smudges of mascara under her eyes before she leaves the bathroom.

Clarke walks back to the main section of the diner. It’s quiet in an eerie kind of way that makes it hard to believe it’s ever a boisterous place open to the public everyday. It’s mostly dark with just a few lights above the booths and a few neon signs casting shadows over the rest of the room.

She doesn’t see Bellamy, and for a second she wonders if he just left her here alone. _I wouldn’t blame him_ , she thinks. Before she can really entertain that idea, he walks back into the room from the back hallway and heads behind the counter.

“C’mere,” he instructs, after looking up to find her standing like a ghost in the middle of the room. He’s standing at the same end of the counter where they shared a sundae only two nights ago. It feels like eons ago.

He taps the counter twice when she makes her way over to him, and she hoists herself up so she’s sitting on the counter in front of him. She notices he brought a med kit from the back storage room with him.

“Drink,” he commands, pointing at a glass of water placed next to her on the counter. She obeys wordlessly as he walks into the kitchen. She watches him through the window separating the restaurant from the kitchen where the plates are left by the cooks for the waiters to pick up as Bellamy runs a cloth under hot water and soap.

When he returns, he presses the cloth softly to her knee without looking up at her. She sits still, hands gripping the edge of the counter tightly when she feels pain. She focuses on the top of his head while he focuses on cleaning her scrapes. She winces as he puts the antiseptic ointment on them. Her complaint dies on her tongue as he looks up at her with a hard stare, something between anger and concern.  

He doesn’t say anything, just returns to the kitchen sink with the dirty cloth. He takes her bloodied hands in his own when he returns, washing the dirt from them with a gentleness she didn’t think he would ever have with her. The only sounds are the hum of the refrigerators and their uneven breaths.

He's carefully bandaging up her left hand, his fingers brushing hers, lifting her hand gently to wrap the bandage. He's standing close to her, basically between her legs, from where she's perched on the counter.

“You might have been right,” he says finally, his voice low. 

For a moment, Clarke thinks he’s referring to the insults she flung at him earlier.

“About parties not being your scene,” he finishes when she doesn’t respond. She sees the beginning of his smirk even though he still doesn’t look up from his work. She lets out a shaky laugh.

They stay quiet again for a beat.

“Bellamy…” she starts, and he finally looks up at her. His face is half shadows, his eyes black. She swallows harshly, almost forgetting what she was going to say.

“I’m sorry,” she continues finally, her voice rough. “I didn’t-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he cuts her off. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

She’s about to argue, but something hard in his eyes makes her decide against it. He moves onto her right hand, bandaging it in silence a few moments later.

“Thank you,” she murmurs and he only nods in response.

“Go sit down,” he instructs. She gently climbs off the counter when he steps away from her, taking her water with her to the booth they sat at two nights ago. She tries to ignore the sting of her hands and knees, the throb of her ankle, as she hobbles over to the table.

Bellamy disappears into the kitchen after that. She doesn’t know how long she sits there, staring out the window at the shops and restaurants on the empty stretch of Main Street. It’s as if time doesn’t exist, as if someone hit pause and they’re suspended in a strange dimension, just the two of them. 

Eventually, Bellamy walks out from the kitchen with two plates in his hands and an ice pack under his arm. He sets the first plate down in front of her, two slices of plain toast. She expects him to take a seat across from her but he sits next to her instead, gesturing for her to pull her legs onto the booth. She twists so she’s facing him, her back resting against the wall. He pulls her feet onto his lap, placing the ice pack wrapped in a towel over her injured ankle.

Bellamy picks up the peanut butter and jelly sandwich off the second plate and bites into it, her feet still in his lap. They eat in silence, Clarke chewing carefully on the toast as if she’s afraid her stomach will reject it without a moment’s notice. She manages to get one slice down and feels okay...better even. She absentmindedly takes in the red digital clock above the kitchen window, noticing it reads midnight. Somewhere in the back of her disjointed mind, she slips into a memory of a beautiful old Cinderella book with gold page edges that her mother used to read to her. She hasn’t seen the book in years and feels far from a princess tonight.

She glances at Bellamy, who seems intensely focused on his sandwich. She wants to talk to him like she could just twelve hours ago, but the air is loaded with all the things she _isn’t_ saying about Finn, all the things she _did_ say to him.

“I’m sorry,” she tries again, ignoring his original plea to not discuss it. He doesn’t stop her this time though, just looks up at her.

“I..I was upset and drunk. I didn’t mean what I said to you.” His gaze on her is steady, his eyes dark.

“Yes you did,” he says simply, and takes another bite out of his sandwich. He says it like it’s the most obvious fact in the world. She runs a hand though her tangled hair and pushes her plate with the remaining piece of toast on it away.

“Maybe,” she continues. “But I didn’t know I did, until I said it. I guess it’s not as easy as I hoped it would be to flip a switch with you. Regardless, I was angry at myself tonight - not you.” He swallows, but doesn’t respond.

“I lash out when I’m angry, at people close to me. You didn’t deserve me yelling at you, I was just…” She thinks back to her frustration at seeing Bellamy leave with Bree. How that was part of the reason she chose to follow Finn upstairs. In the moment, Finn was the only way to make her forget about that frustration. Finn, and alcohol of course. Yet, she can’t say any of that to Bellamy, because she doesn’t understand it herself. All she understands about it is that it’s wrong, what she’s begun to feel, and she can’t...she just can’t. Period.

“I just hate when people feel sorry for me,” she continues. “It makes me feel weak, vulnerable...it’s why I lashed out at you. That look on your face - I just wanted you to think I was stronger than that. Even when we used to fight, I figured you at least saw me as strong.” _There - that was the truth too_ , she thinks. _Or at least part of it._

He finally looks up at her again, his face unexpectedly soft. She thinks her heart is going to stop when he puts his hand over hers on the table. The light above them reflects off of the small scars scattered across his hand and forearm. This time, it’s her that looks down, away from his intense gaze.

“Hey,” he tries, but she can’t meet his eyes, feeling all too vulnerable still.

“Hey,” he says again, louder and more insistent. She finally looks up at him.

“I know you’re strong. I’ve always known that. Strong doesn’t mean perfect. You’re allowed to have a bad night. You don’t have to be _on_ all the time,” he tells her, letting go of her hand. She immediately misses its warmth.

“Thanks Bellamy,” she says softly. “You know...I could say the same to you.”

He smirks at her, that familiar mischievous glint in his eye coming back, and the heaviness of the moment seems to fade.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Unlike you, I _am_ actually perfect.” She rolls her eyes and throws the piece of uneaten toast at him.

\--∞--

Bellamy doesn’t remember falling asleep. Hell, he doesn’t even remember resting his eyes. Yet, when he wakes up with a jolt, his cheek stuck to the table and Clarke’s legs still in his lap, he knows immediately he screwed up. When he rubs his eyes and squints at the clock that reads 4am, he knows he _really_ fucked up.

“Clarke,” he whispers, shaking her gently by the shoulder. She looks as confused as he felt waking up, her eyes going big. He notices how adorable she looks just woken up, sleepy and confused, and stores away the memory for a time he can actually appreciate it. 

“We fell asleep, missed curfew. We’ve got to go,” he tells her hurriedly, lifting her legs off of him and sliding out of the booth.

“Shit,” she mutters, sliding out after him. “ _Shit_ ,” she says again, more urgently, when she reads the time like he did. He runs to the kitchen to wash their plates as quickly as possible, probably breaking a few health code violations in his rush. He glances up to see Clarke picking up the med kit and cleaning up the bandage scraps from the counter, erasing any evidence of their night here.

Ten minutes later, he’s locking up the door and placing the key back in its hiding spot. The cooks usually show up by 5am, sometimes earlier. He doesn’t know what they’ll be walking into at home, whether their parents realize they didn't come home or not.

“How’s your ankle? Can you walk?” he asks, turning back towards Clarke.

“It’s definitely better, but I can’t move that quickly,” she replies. Her face is white with panic. It’s not like Bellamy gets in trouble a lot, but that’s mostly because he’s a lot less careless than he was last night. This is all new to Clarke though, breaking the rules. She looks like she’s going to throw up for entirely different reasons than she did last night.

“Here, get on my back again,” he commands. She just sighs as she hops on, apparently caring more about not getting in trouble than her pride.

Ten minutes later, he sets her back on the ground as they walk up their driveway. The house is dark, a good sign. Maybe their parents went to bed and have no idea they aren't home yet. Clarke follows him without a word to the back of the house. When they stop in front of the vine covered trellis, Clarke looks at him like he’s grown two heads.

“I can’t climb that!” she whispers.

“You have to! Look at these,” he tells her, pointing to small little pegs he nailed into the siding last year. They’re invisible in the vine covered trellis unless you know they’re there, but allow him to essentially rock climb up the wall.

She shoots him another disbelieving look.

“Okay, I’ll climb up first. If you can make it just halfway up, I can hoist you up the rest of the way,” he promises. She looks around as if another solution is going to appear out of thin air. She finally concedes, nodding in agreement.

He climbs up with ease - he’s usually doing this drunk, so this is actually easier than usual. When he gets up to the roof, he lays on his stomach and hangs his upper torso off the ledge, extending his arm as far down as it can go.

“Okay, just make it to my hand...or farther if you can,” he instructs. He watches her face become a mask of determination, like the little girl with the crayons. She steps up with her good ankle on one peg, and grabs onto the higher pegs with her hands.

When she steps up on her bad ankle to the next peg, he can tell she prepared herself for the pain. Her face scrunches and a single tear escapes squeezed eyes as she grits her teeth. Still, she manages to hoist herself up to another peg through the pain. She climbs up one last peg with her good foot in the lead.

“I can’t make it another on my ankle again,” she tells him, her voice a little defeated. He leans over the side of the house further, reaching closer to her.

“That’s fine, grab my arm here,” he tells her. She clasps both her arms around his one and he begins to pull her up, using his other arm to steady himself so he doesn’t roll off the roof. Once he lifts her a half a foot, she’s able to push off a higher peg with her good ankle again.

The force of how hard he’s pulling her and her pushing off with her foot sends her flinging her upper half onto the roof, nearly on top of him. He continues pulling her as she swings one leg over the ledge of the roof, then another, until she’s finally there next to him.

Bellamy and Clarke lay on their backs beside eachother, panting as they try to catch their breath. He turns his head to look at her, and maybe it’s because he’s so deliriously tired, but he can’t help but burst into laughter.

“Bellamy, it’s not funny!” she scolds, but she’s already fighting the laughter too. She gives in a second later and the two of them laugh together, stars above them, until they eventually calm down.

“So...you were saying parties aren’t really your scene, huh?” he says again. She leans over to swat at his chest and the laughter begins all over again. Finally, they sit up and make their way to their windows.

“I’ll make sure the front door is locked and see if they’re sleeping,” he tells her.

“Thanks,” she says, opening her window with a huff. “I don’t know how I’m going to hide the ankle, even if I can cover the bandages,” she wonders aloud.

“It’s the first day of summer...I don’t think it will look like anything out of the ordinary if you spend the day binging netflix. I’ll sneak you up some ice packs,” he says with a wink.

“Good night, Bellamy,” she says with a small smile. “Thank you.”

He nods in acknowledgement and opens his own window, hoping the dark hides his blush.

“Goodnight Clarke,” he responds as he climbs in, but doesn’t wait for a response.

\--∞--

Clarke crawls into bed utterly drained. She managed to change into a cropped tank and leggings that cover her knee bandages. She lays on her back to avoid hurting her knees and stares at her ceiling. Thankfully, the alcohol is mostly out of her system. Thanks to Bellamy, she’s also got water and toast in her stomach to combat the inevitable hangover. Her injuries throb a bit, but not enough to overshadow her exhaustion. She doesn't even attempt to stay awake long enough to hear from Bellamy if they’ve been caught, and she’s out within seconds.

Her sleep is restless and she dreams throughout the rest of the morning. She sees Bellamy’s scarred hands bandaging her own, until the two of them have switched places without any explanation. Yet she doesn’t question it in the depths of her dream; suddenly they’re children again, with ten year old Clarke bandaging up bloody hands belonging to an eleven year old Bellamy.

Clarke sees him smashing in the car windows as she continues wrapping his hands, over and over again. The blood just keeps seeping through the bandages. There’s no way to stop the bleeding, but she wraps his hands over and over again as if she still can.

“Why did you do it,” she asks, her voice small.

“I can’t tell you,” he answers, and the bleeding continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, see ya in a few days!


	5. The Silence in the Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the comments and kudos, it keeps me motivated. Hope you enjoy!

Clarke wakes up to the late morning sun shining harshly on her face, the birds chirping all too loudly. She groans and turns over, pulling her blanket over her head in an attempt to find darkness again. The flash of pain she feels when turning over brings last night back to her. A sense of dread, embarrassment, and just about every bad feeling courses through her.

She wishes she was as exhausted as when she got home this morning; the need for sleep had overshadowed everything else. Now she just feels anxious and wide awake.

_Did her and Bellamy get in trouble? Did the whole school witness Raven screaming at her? What are they saying about her? That she’s a homewrecker? A sloppy drunk?_

She groans again and pulls her pillow over her head, committed to laying in bed for a while longer. She may be wide awake, but that doesn’t mean she’s ready to face the day.

She decides to check her phone, even though she’s afraid of what might be waiting for her. She has over twenty messages and a few missed calls from her friends, all coming in at different times in the night.

 _Great_ , she thinks. _I'll just_ _add guilt to the list of things I'm feeling_. Then she remembers Raven and realizes it was already there anyways.

She shoots them a message in the group text apologizing. She explains she’s an idiot, drank too much, and Bellamy got her home in one piece. She doesn’t mention Finn or the diner. When she gets no immediate response, she opens up Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, holding her breath as she scrolls through each.

She doesn’t know what she expects. Maybe something like #drunkslut trending on Twitter with pictures of her face. Maybe a video of her falling down on Instagram. You never know in a small town like this. Thankfully, there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Only happy photos of people celebrating, tweets about the start of summer. Not that this means she’s out of the woods, given how small town gossip travels. But at least that’s all it is for now - gossip.

She puts her phone down and turns on netflix, hoping that she falls asleep again soon.

\--∞--

Bellamy walks downstairs a little after 9am, never one to sleep long with alcohol in his system. Despite his natural disposition as a morning person, he feels a little rough. His head aches dully as he walks downstairs in an undershirt, boxers, and glasses. He needs a cup of coffee before he can even think about a shower.

When he walks into the kitchen, he sees Jake at the stove flipping pancakes and his mom drinking coffee at the kitchen table with _The Ark Times_ in front of her. Most of the time, he’s used to scenes like this. He blames it on his foggy, hungover brain when another scene pops into his head without warning. He's six and climbing on top of the counter to reach the cereal box on the top shelf so he can feed Octavia some cheerios. He gave up on trying to pull his mom out of bed after he tugged at her for fifteen minutes and got no response until she eventually snapped at him to go away.

“Morning, sweetie,” greets Aurora, pulling him back to the present. She smiles warmly at him.

“Grab some coffee and join me.” Her voice confirms what he suspected after he locked the front door last night and peaked into their bedroom to find them both long passed out. Clarke and him are in the clear.

Bellamy accepts a mug from Jake and sits next to his mom, not bothering with the paper this morning. _Too much effort_ , he thinks, as he struggles to appear alert...or at least not hungover.   

“Almost finished with the pancakes,” Jake calls from the stove. “Still riding high from the big win yesterday?”

It takes Bellamy a second to remember what he’s talking about. Between the final exam, the big win, and the disaster that was Atom’s party, it feels like that was weeks ago instead of hours ago.

“Uh, yea definitely,” he finally manages. He takes a giant gulp of coffee, hoping the caffeine hits him quickly.

“Did you and Clarke have a good time celebrating last night? Everyone behave?” Aurora asks.

 _Far from it_ , he thinks.

“Yea, it was pretty chill. Nothing too crazy. We all hung out at Atom’s for a bit and then headed over to watch a movie at Murphy’s," he lies smoothly.

"We walked over to Murphy’s so I just left my car at Atom’s. I’ve got to pick it up later,” he adds, taking the opportunity to naturally plug in that excuse while he can.

Bellamy’s not sure what level of clueless his mom and Jake are about his social life. On the one hand, given that they were his age once, he assumes they must know there’s more than soda and a bowl of chips when he goes to hang out with his friends. Maybe they think it’s a little cheap beer and spin the bottle, allowing them to turn a blind eye, instead of shots and hooking up in cars and behind closed doors. Or maybe you just forget when you get older, and it’s as simple as that.

“Where’s Octavia?” he asks, noticing her absence.

“Oh she’s off enjoying the pool with her friends. Her summer rec shifts coaching the kids' soccer and basketball programs start on Monday,” answers Jake as he places the pancakes, silverware, some empty plates, and maple syrup on the table, balancing them like a pro.

Bellamy’s half way through his second helping of pancakes when Clarke trudges into the kitchen looking like a zombie. He went to check on her after he locked up, to tell her he thought they were in the clear, but she was already passed out. With a panic, he notices that despite her efforts, she’s still limping. Not to mention, the hand bandages aren’t going to be easily covered up like the ones on her knees.

He catches her eye before their parents see her and shoots her a look that he prays she understands as something along the lines of, _let me do the talking_.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Jake greets her, finally noticing her presence. Clarke’s never been a morning person, so her simply grunting in response isn’t all that out of the ordinary. Bellamy watches as Aurora and Jake notice her limp when she makes her way to the table, mug of coffee in her hand.

“Clarke, I didn’t get to fill them in on the moment you were officially crowned the clumsiest person in Arkadia,” he says, making sure his smirk looks like he’s enjoying the chance to tease her. She eyes him wearily as she takes the seat across from him but lets him keep talking.

“We were all walking over to the Murphy’s for the movie, and Clarke managed to roll her ankle when stepping off the curb. She completely  _fell_ in front of everyone,” he continues, chuckling.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Aurora asks, the concern on her face a reflection of Jake’s. To Bellamy’s surprise, Clarke’s a lot smoother than he gave her credit for. She glares hard at Bellamy.

“Ha-ha,” she dead pans. “It definitely helped when you just laughed while Harper helped me up,” she says, rolling her eyes. He catches their parents glancing at each other wearily and realizes it seems like Clarke and him are fighting again. Clarke must realize it too.

“But thank you for helping me up the stairs last night,” she adds quickly, making her voice lighter.

“Don’t worry about it,” he responds easily. “I’m just glad we got Murphy to give us a ride home.”

“What movie did you guys watch,” asks Jake, focus back on the paper as he flips it to the next page.

“The second avengers movie. It was stupid,” Clarke lies easily. Jake just hums and buries his face in the paper, mirroring Aurora’s across the table. Bellamy smirks at Clarke over his mug of coffee and she smiles at him, as if she’s pretty pleased with herself too.

\--∞--

Clarke nurses her coffee like it’s the source of life itself, feeling a lot more relaxed now that she knows Bellamy and her are in the clear, their excuses piled up neatly.

 _Not a bad team,_ she thinks.

Aurora starts collecting their plates when they finish eating and Bellamy’s instantly on his feet helping her.

“I’ve got the dishes, don’t worry about it Mom,” she hears him say as they carry them to the sink.

“What have you got planned today?” Jake asks, folding up the paper, apparently finished.

“Well the elementary art classes I’m teaching for the summer rec program start Monday, so I’m probably just going to take it easy this weekend. Enjoy the days off.”

“Oh!” Clarke adds quickly. “I almost forgot to tell you, I got one of the lifeguarding positions at the pool this summer.”

“Not a bad job,” Jake says, smiling at her softly. “You’ll still be able to spend your days in the sun.”

“You’re lifeguarding?” Bellamy pipes in from where he’s washing dishes. Aurora’s gone, most likely getting ready to head to the diner for a few hours.

“Yea, I found out last week. Why?” she asks, twisting in her chair to face him.

“Oh, I got a job there this year too, so I guess I’ll be seeing you there,” he tells her.

 _Hmm_. _I don’t have the time or headspace to think about how I feel about that_ , she muses.

“Isn’t that like your third job, not counting your hours at the diner?” she asks instead. She knows he puts in a decent amount of hours at Sinclair’s auto shop and he’s teaching basketball to kids in the summer rec program.

“Yea, well I like to keep busy. Besides, it never hurts to put away some extra cash,” he says, his eyes still focused on the dishes in front of him. She turns back around to see a slight grimace on her dad’s face. She knows he feels bad that Bellamy insists on working so much, as if he isn’t taken care of or something. But like her, he’s been witness to Bellamy’s stubbornness for a long time and knows it’s a losing battle.

\--∞--

Clarke bikes down the streets of Arkadia the next day with her headphones in, feeling anxious despite the serene surroundings. The weather is warm and balmy, summer officially here. Kids bike past her on their way to the park and she passes people of all ages sipping iced teas and coffees on their porches, enjoying the slow Sunday morning. She loves this time of year, the large oak and willow trees that line the sidewalks in full bloom. It’s hard not to appreciate their beauty, even when she’s grown used to it.

Clarke thought blasting the newest Old Dominion album would put her at ease but her stomach continues doing summersaults. The slip of paper with Raven’s address tucked in her pocket is heavy enough to drown out the music.

_Clarke spent the rest of her Saturday lounging around her room with her leg up and an ice pack constantly on it. Unfortunately, the pressure she put on it attempting to climb up to the roof only made it worse. Still, it wasn’t a full sprain. By Sunday morning, she was able to walk on it with only slight discomfort and a limp that wasn’t all that recognizable unless you were looking for it._

_On Saturday night, a little past 9pm, she finds Bellamy on their screened-in side porch. He’s laying across the couch, the lamp on the table beside his head casting a dim glow across the room. There’s a nice breeze coming in from outside and the room is quiet save the crickets chirping somewhere in the distance and the steady hum of the ceiling fan above. She can’t help but stare from the door behind him, taking him in. He’s still got his glasses on and his hair’s wild, in need of a cut. She smiles at him, but instantly scolds herself._

_“Hey,” she says, announcing her presence as she hops up on the wide porch railing to sit across from him._

_“How’s the ankle?” he asks. He places the book face down on his chest so that it remains open to his page, but makes no move to sit up. “Did you change your bandages?” he asks, before she can even answer his first question._

_“Yes, Mom,” she smirks. “Uhh...I was actually wondering. Could I get Raven’s address?”_

_He gives her a curious look, as if he’s a bit weary of the request._

_“I just...I have to talk to her. Explain, apologize, make things right,” she says, rambling a bit. She knows she isn’t obligated to give him an explanation, but feels like she should anyways._

_“Um, sure,” he answers after a beat. Clarke bristles at his hesitant tone, growing irritated. She’s just trying to make things right._

_“I can ask someone else if you’re not comfortable giving it to me,” she says, her tone a little defensive._

_“No, no, I’ll write it down for you,” he says a bit hurriedly, finally sitting up to face her. “It’s not that, it’s just...you haven’t talked about what went down, that’s all.”_

_Clarke feels ice course through her veins, feels herself building a wall around herself even as she sits right in front of him._

_“No I haven’t, and I don’t have to,” she says coldly. The look in his eyes makes her think he can actually see a real wall grow around her. His face softens._

_“No, you definitely don’t. I just meant I’m here if you want to talk about it.” He lays back down when she doesn’t say anything, opening his book again. “I’ll write it down for you when I go back upstairs.”_

_“Okay, thanks,” she says, sighing a little. She gets up to leave, is already at the door when she turns around._

_“You know I didn’t know, right? I wouldn’t do that. He told me...I just, I didn’t know,” she blurts before she can stop herself. She's not sure why, but she needs him to know that._

_He turns around immediately to face her. “I know that, Clarke. I know you wouldn’t do that,” he assures her, his voice unwavering._

_“Okay. Alright...well, thanks for the address,” she says. She hurries out the door without waiting for a response._

Clarke breaks on her bike, hopping off it gently to avoid putting too much weight on her ankle. She takes in the apartment building in front of her; It’s an old building in the same part of town as the Blakes’ old house. It’s not a bad part of town, per se. It’s not _dangerous_ or anything. There’s not many, if any, areas around Arkadia that are considered truly dangerous. Yet, everyone knows there’s less money here in East Arkadia.

Clarke swallows nervously as she leans her bike against the railing of the stairs that lead up to the apartments. It reminds her of an old motel, the way it’s laid out. All of the apartments are up the stairs on the second level, the doors leading directly outside to one long balcony. When she makes it to the apartment number Bellamy wrote down, she knocks quickly before she can change her mind.

The door swings open mere seconds later, making Clarke jump. Her face probably looks as shocked as Raven’s does when she takes in Clarke. Raven schools her face quickly, crosses her arms with an unimpressed look on her face. To her credit, she doesn’t immediately slam the door in Clarke’s face.

“Hi,” Clarke starts, her voice meek. She was already intimidated by Raven _before_ this whole mess.

“I know I’m the last person you want to see right now. I just wanted to apologize, and explain myself,” she says quickly, afraid that Raven will cut her off if she doesn’t get it all out in one go.

“I didn’t know about you. Well, I knew you guys _were_ dating, as in past tense, but when he started talking to me at the party, and I asked about you, he said you guys broke up last week.” She feels like she’s rambling. She needs to wrap it up.

“I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry I hurt you, that I hurt you guys. I didn’t know you were still together. I was really drunk and had I not been I would have used my head and confirmed what he told me. Or just, not been an idiot. I’m not making excuses though, it was shitty, plain and simple. I’m really sorry,” she finishes finally.

Raven looks shocked when she finishes the last bit, but doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, I’ll leave you alone,” Clarke says, unable to stand the awkward silence and turning to leave.

“Clarke wait,” says Raven, pulling Clarke back. “It’s not your fault, I know that. _You_ should know that. Unlike you, Finn wasn’t that drunk. He knew what he was doing, he took advantage of you. He screwed us both over.” Raven’s voice cracks a little, despite her attempt to disguise it. Clarke’s too shocked to respond. She didn’t expect anything beyond a stormy silence. At worse, a slap to the face.

“You didn’t hurt us,” she continues. “Clearly, things were already broken in ways I didn’t realize if he was willing to do that to me with anyone. A guy being an asshole doesn’t make _you_ an idiot. Just...I’d stay away from him. For your own sake.” It’s not a threat though, Clarke realizes. There’s genuine concern in her voice.

“Oh. Um...thanks,” Clarke responds lamely. “You don’t have to worry about Finn and I, trust me on that,” she adds, meaning it completely. Raven smiles at her then, sizing her up a bit.

“You know Griffin, it takes guts coming over here like this. I didn’t know a bookworm like you had it in you,” Raven says, her voice an odd mix of pride and grudging respect. Clarke has to laugh at that statement, given the events of last Friday.

“Yea well, I’m surprising myself in a lot of ways lately, none of them good,” Clarke tells her. Raven’s expression turns somber again.

“Yea, Bellamy mentioned you drank a little too much. Don’t worry about it, we’ve all been there. Most of us more than once, actually.”

“Oh...what did Bellamy say, exactly?” she asks, curiosity getting the better of her. For a short moment, she’s worried he told Raven in detail what a disaster she was, even though she hopes Bellamy wouldn’t do that.

“Oh, just what you told me. That he was absolutely certain you didn’t know about me, that you wouldn’t do something like that, that Finn took advantage of you.”

Clarke thinks back to her conversation with him the night before. _I know you wouldn’t do that_ , he had said with such confidence, despite the fact she refused to tell him anything about it.

“I know you guys didn’t get along in the past, but he’s one of the good ones. He would have had your back regardless. You’re lucky to have him around,” she continues with a smile.

“Yea...yea, I am. I know that now,” Clarke responds after a beat. She does know that, and it’s becoming a problem in a way Raven would never guess. “Well, I guess I’m going to go then,” she continues, nodding towards the stairs.

“Wait, Clarke!” For the second time, Raven stops her when she turns to walk away. “I have a few hours to kill before work and really need to get out of the house. Do you want to grab iced coffees or something?” To Clarke’s amusement, Raven actually sounds nervous.

“Sorry, that’s probably weird. You don’t have-”

“No, yeah - I’m definitely free,” Clarke answers quickly, cutting her off.

“Okay, cool, let me grab my keys,” Raven says, smiling at her. “We can throw your bike in the bed of my truck.”

Clarke smiles, looking out from the balcony to the shabby street below as she waits for her. This is the absolute last scenario she imagined happening today, but she couldn’t be happier.

\--∞--

Clarke keeps busy the next few weeks the best she can, as she always does during the summer. Especially during the summer weeks leading up to her annual DC visit. She tries not to let her nerves hamper the present, although it’s hard for someone like her. But she's looking forward to the 4th of July in just a few weeks, which she'll spend at their Charleston beach house with Octavia and their parents. It’s her favorite time of year, spending the week in her childhood summer home. It's usually enough of a distraction to keep her from dwelling on DC.

When they first spent time there with the Blakes, Clarke was hesitant - if not resistant - to the idea of sharing the house with them. She was pleasantly surprised as the years went by. With the Blakes, the house felt more full and less like the shell of something broken as it did that first summer her father and her visited it alone. The same summer they first met Aurora.

Besides that summer, she really only has happy memories of the house. Sometimes it makes her sad how the people in those memories have shifted so dramatically, as if they were simply bodies easily replaced by new ones. But she tries to remind herself she’s lucky to be surrounded by love all those years - first with her parents and the Jaha’s, and later with her dad and the Blakes.

The first couple years in Charleston, Bellamy and Clarke even managed to get along, if only because they stayed clear of each other instead of going out of their way to antagonize the other. In fact, she remembers thinking it was odd to see Bellamy actually _enjoying_ himself. He read books on the beach and played pick up basketball with Jake. It was the only time she remembers him seeming so carefree around their family.

Yet, the summer when Bellamy was 13, he said he’d rather spend the week with the Millers so he could spend the 4th of July with his friends. By the next year, their parents let him stay home alone for the week as long as he checked in twice a day.

In recent years, the beach house had become such a happy place for Clarke because she had begun to think of it as her “Bellamy free week.” A week where she didn’t have to stress about fighting with him. She felt a little guilty for feeling happy about his absence, especially since she could tell how badly Octavia missed him. Still, selfishly...it was better when he wasn’t around.

This summer, Clarke's looking forward to his absence at the beach for a whole new set of reasons. She needs a break from him - needs a break from how she feels around him. She's pretty much beyond pretending that she doesn't have a small crush on Bellamy, as horrible as it was. But she's sure it's something that will dissolve with enough time and space. The week away will be the perfect opportunity for that.

Until then, she makes sure to keep busy with work at the pool, the summer rec program, and at the diner. She’s even begun hanging out with Raven on a pretty regular basis after that first coffee run. Sometimes Raven joins Octavia and her as they sip iced tea and try to keep cool on their front porch or hunker down in their living room for a movie. Other days, Raven joins her group of friends when they grab pizza before heading out for the night.

Raven, it turns out, spent most of her childhood with Finn. After she broke up with him, she found herself with a lot of free time and not a lot of friends. After she texted Clarke asking if she wanted to come hang out at the pool a few days after their first afternoon together, Clarke found herself becoming fast friends with Raven in a way she never could have predicted.

Yet, too often, Bellamy and her shifts cross paths at their various jobs, making Clarke all the more desperate for her week away from him.

Together, they work a shift at the pool where Clarke sits on the the high lifeguard chair under the umbrella and tries not to fry under the summer sun. She rolls her eyes as Bellamy only becomes more tan as the days go on, but can’t help but smile when he joins in on a game of nerf football in the shallow end with a group of elementary aged kids. She scowls when Bellamy checks out the other girls, winking at them with no shame when they catch him.

Together, they work their summer rec jobs, running into each other seamlessly despite not teaching the same things. One day, she feels his gaze as she draws a demo for the students in the elementary school classroom. She looks up to see that he’s got a strange, dazed look on his face. Yet, it disappears quickly when she looks at him, leading her to believe she may have imagined it. He looks away quickly, shuffling the little boy with the bloody elbow along as he presumably heads down the hall to the nurse’s office.

Another day, Clarke walks out of the elementary school to see Bellamy patiently teaching the second graders how to throw a three pointer. She bites her lip, swallowing her grin, when he chases the kids around, their lessons breaking down into a chaotic game of tag. When he catches her watching as she walks over to her bike, he gives her a wave. She shakes her head at him and only lets her smile loose when she’s cruising down the street away from him. _I’m screwed,_ she thinks. But then she steels herself like always. _It’s only temporary_ , she chides, turning her attention to just about anything else.

Even when she’s with her friends, he always seems to be _around_ . Despite her disastrous performance at Atom’s party, she attends a few other parties and bonfires, always making sure she keeps herself in check. Yet, Bellamy never seems to stray far as if he’s worried about a repeat performance, a cup of water constantly being shoved in her face. She pretends to be annoyed at him, while she secretly swells with affection for his concerns for her safety.  _It's only temporary_ , she repeats, the words in her head ringing with the intensity of a prayer.  

\--∞--

Clarke sets to work unloading the diner’s dishwasher while Bellamy pulls the mop out of the back closet, dragging its bucket into the kitchen with him. The OPEN sign on the door was flipped thirty minutes ago and the cooks have headed home. With only the sound of the local country station playing on the diner’s old radio, Bellamy and Clarke work in a comfortable silence as they clean. Clarke doesn’t spend as much time at the diner as Bellamy does, but she tries to help out a few times a week when she can or sometimes when she’s just plain bored.

This Saturday, the two of them ended up with closing duty when Jake decided to take Aurora into Columbia for a concert. They volunteered to close up without a fight, Octavia too, knowing how hard Jake and Aurora both work. They deserve a break, a fun night out. Yet, last night Octavia told them she was invited on a weekend trip to Myrtle Beach with Fox, so they were down a cleaner.

Bellamy enters the dining room, continuing to mop, as Clarke switches to wiping down the counter and tables. Clarke’s exhausted, having worked a long shift at the pool earlier that day, but Bellamy looks like he’s bouncing with nervous energy. Clarke smirks when she catches him absentmindedly humming to the song on the radio. She doesn’t think he even realizes he’s doing it.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asks, his voice breaking through the silence.

“Hmm,” she replies, moving onto the next table with the cleaning spray in hand. “Sleeping, sleeping...then sleeping a little more.”

“Oh please, it’s only 9pm. Neither of us have any work tomorrow,” he argues.

“I’m too tired for a party or fire tonight, Bellamy. Why don’t you text Miller or Murphy...or Bree.” She scrubs a stubborn spot on the table, giving it her full attention.

“Well, because I know for a fact none of them like horror movies like you do.”

She finally stops, turning around to face him with a raised eyebrow. He picks a copy of today's  _Ark Times_ out of the recycling bin.

“Look," he says, pointing to the _Events_ section of the paper. "Polis's old Drive In is doing some horror movie marathon night this weekend. It's only a fifteen minute drive - we can catch the last movie if we leave in ten.”

A rush of affection runs through Clarke when she thinks how he saw that and thought of her...and wants to go with her. Despite all the time spent together at home, through work, or with their friends, it’s hardly ever alone. Or when it is, it isn't intentional.

“Besides, Bree and I aren’t a thing anymore,” he adds, as if it’s an afterthought.

“Of course you’re not,” she says a bit pointedly. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t seem to care about the jab. He just looks at her expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Well, you know I can’t say no to a horror movie,” she says with a sigh.

He smiles widely - a real, genuine smile that sends goosebumps up her arms. _This is a bad idea_ , says a nagging voice in the back of her mind. Yet, she doesn't change her mind.

“Alright, let’s hurry up and get out of here,” he says, mopping a bit faster.

\--∞--

Bellamy drums his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the song on the radio as they cruise out of town and onto the country road that leads directly to Arkadia's neighboring town. The sun went down over an hour ago but the night remains hot, the southern humidity trapping the heat. They keep the windows down since Bellamy’s AC broke about a month after he bought the truck and he didn’t have the money to replace it.

The breeze helps, but it isn’t enough in the thick of summer. Bellamy’s t-shirt sticks to his back a bit and he notices how Clarke lifts up her hair to wipe the back of her neck from time to time. He tries and fails not to glance over at her when she does. She pins her waves to her head with her hand, her neck bare, and eventually lets her waves tumble back over her shoulders. It’s a bit mesmerizing, and he doesn’t know why.

Bellamy takes a left to head into the center of Polis instead of straight through it to the Drive In on the outskirts of town.

“This isn’t the way to the drive in,” she says, her voice slow and suspicious. He drives down their Main Street that looks more or less the same as their own, Polis being a pretty similar small town.

“Patience Princess,” he smirks. “We need reinforcements.” He pulls into the lot of a local burger joint that Polis is known for and pulls through the drive thru. Clarke whisper scolds him as he orders more food than either of them needs. He puts a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh as he tries to finish the order.

“I can’t believe you like that stuff,” she teases, making a face at the root beer he’s drinking as they turn back onto the road leading to the Drive In.

“What would you know? You’re drinking Dr. Pepper,” he answers, fake gagging dramatically. He catches the smile she tries to hide when she turns her face back towards her window, the breeze whipping her hair around her face.

He tries to ignore that feeling he always gets when he makes her smile. That pride, that joy, mixed with a strange impending dread. Guilt too - there’s always the guilt. This was his idea though, because he still wants to simply be  _around_ her. Those feelings be damned, both the good and bad ones.

Ten minutes later, they’re sitting on top of the tool box of his truck bed, burgers, fries, and onion rings splayed between them. As the opening credits of the original Friday the 13th start rolling, Bellamy steals a glance at Clarke. Her eyes are wide as she mindlessly pops fry after fry into her mouth.

The warm air feels like a blanket of humidity, small breezes offering little relief. They both have of a sheen of sweat on their foreheads. It’s typical Carolina weather this time of year, and they both know there’s no use in complaining about it. Still, about halfway through the movie, he sees her lift her hair up off her neck for the umpteenth time that night and can’t take the way the small gesture makes his stomach twist.

“Why don’t you just put your hair up,” he blurts before he can stop himself. She looks at him a little shocked. He wants to crawl into a hole and never come out.

“I just don’t like the way it looks when it's up,” she tells him a little defensively, turning back towards the screen.

 _Great, now she thinks she’s annoying me_.

“We don’t know anyone here Clarke, no one’s going to see you,” he says, his tone purposely lighter. When the movie scene changes into something brighter, their faces are washed out in light. He thinks he catches a blush, but it’s probably just the heat.

She doesn’t respond to his reasoning, acts like she didn’t hear him. Then, because he’s already acting like a fool so why not just blaze on, full speed ahead, he continues talking.

“I used to braid Octavia’s hair back all the time in the summer. I can do yours if you want…” He trails off, immediately regretting opening his mouth, regretting even suggesting they come here.

No one is more shocked than him when she shrugs and responds with, “Okay.”

They both sit in the bed of the truck facing the screen, her cross legged in front of him. He sits with his knees bent and legs apart, with Clarke between them. Her posture is straight as a ruler, presumably to avoid leaning back against him.

He takes out the bobby pins keeping her typical half updo in place and begins combing her hair out with his fingers. She’s sits as still as a statue and he thinks he sees goosebumps rise on her shoulders and the back of her neck, even in the dark. Even in the heat.

“If you tell any of the guys I can braid, I’m going to have to kill you,” he mutters, trying to disperse the sudden tension he feels between them. His voice comes out too rough and her responding laugh sounds too harsh, a bit forced.

He begins braiding a section in the front first, from her right part so that it will wrap around past her left ear. He rises to his knees to reach the top of her head, hovering above her, his stomach nearly pressed against her.

 _I’m absolutely fucked_ , he thinks. He sits back down the way he was before as he continues the the braid in the back. It’s in this small, seemingly insignificant moment when he stops trying to swallow his feelings for her, the ones he stored away in a dark corner of his mind. He finally accepts how he feels...and he’s never felt more hopeless.

Bellamy’s hands are light and work slowly as he weaves the rest of her hair into the original braid. He sees her shoulders relax a bit as she becomes engrossed in the movie again. He doesn’t want this to end but the braid is finished.

He’s about to ask her for the hair tie on her wrist when Jason pops out of the water and the audience screams in unison. Instinctually, Clarke tightly latches her hand onto his knee beside her. He forgets to breathe, and she just lets out a breathy laugh before murmuring “Sorry.” He instantly misses her touch, even in the heat, even in the humidity. He waits until he trusts his voice again.

“Hair tie?” he finally asks. She passes it behind her, keeping her eyes on the screen ahead. He ties the braid and lets it drop down her back, but doesn’t move from his spot behind her. He wishes she would lean back, he wishes he could pull her into him, wrap his arms around her waist from behind. She doesn’t do any of these things, he doesn’t do any of these things, but neither of them move.

Thirty minutes later, the movie finishes and they pack up their garbage quietly, hopping into the car without a word. _Silence_ , he thinks, _is hard for them. One minute it’s the most comfortable thing in the world, the next minute it feels so loaded he fights the urge to run._

“Radio,” Clarke says to herself quietly when they turn onto the road, as if remembering it exists. Bellamy just hums in response as she turns it on, the same country station still playing.

Clarke turns the volume louder than it usually is and turns to look out the window again. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, biting the inside of his cheek nervously. When he actually tunes in to the lyrics, he thinks he might die.

 _Never seem to be alone_ _  
_ _Can't find a stepping stone and_ _  
_ _This went better when I played it in my mind_ _  
_ _And there's a silence in the air_ _  
_ _Don't you know how much I care?_  
_Don't you know that you're the reason that I dream?_

Bellamy brings a hand to his thigh, rubbing his hand up and down it nervously.

 _She said, "I've been waitin' on you to kiss me_ _  
_ _Waitin' on you to make your move_ _  
_ _There's a window open to steal my heart_  
_And I'm waitin' on you to kiss me_

Bellamy dares a glance at Clarke, refusing to turn his head to face her. She seems stiff, is digging her nails into her thigh.

 _It's all these little games and_ _  
_ _I hope you feel the same_ _  
_ _I've lived my life afraid you'll never know the truth_ _  
_ _She said "Don't walk away, I need you to stay_  
_If you want, you can wrap me in -_

Clarke reaches out quickly, punching the off button on the radio as if she’s killing a bug with a fly swatter. He looks at her but she turns to look back out the window.

“Sorry, I just have such a headache right now,” she mumbles, her gaze still on the dark fields outside. They ride the rest of the way home in a silence that neither of them knows what to do with.

\--∞--

A few days later, the sun is beating down on Clarke’s back as she lays around the pool with her girlfriends, which now includes Raven. The rest of her friends have accepted Raven with open arms and they’re enjoying the day lounging around on the pool deck in their bathing suits. They alternate between swimming, reading, chatting, and napping. _If only all days could be like this_ , she thinks.

Her friends are napping and reading, quiet and calm today after a night in at Harper’s last night where they hit her parents’ wine cellar a little too hard. Clarke’s laying on her stomach with her head in her arms, resting her eyes but never quite dozing off.

“Bellamy’s looking fine today,” comments Monroe, who’s reading next to Clarke. Clarke steals a glance at Bellamy over her sunglasses. He’s perched on top of the life guard chair a little too confidently, a cocky grin on his face as he surveys the pool. Clarke pulls her sunglasses back up her nose and rolls her now hidden eyes.

The others laugh, humming and nodding in agreement while Clarke feels her throat constrict. Her mind involuntarily drifts to the feel of his fingers combing through her hair. Even the memory of the ride home makes her cringe. _Of all the songs in the damn world_ , she had thought. She hadn’t been brave enough to spare a glance at Bellamy, to see if he thought anything of her strange behavior.

Thankfully, living in the same house, they had to push through the awkwardness instead of simply avoiding each other for the rest of their lives (which was her natural instinct). By the next night, everything felt mostly normal again, no longer stiff. _At least on the outside. I’m actually still a mess_ , she reminds herself.

“Sooo, you know…” Raven starts. The tone of her voice is one used by someone who knows they have something juicy to share. She leans up on her arms and sees everyone put down their books and sit up, giving Raven their full attention.

“There’s something I didn’t mention last night. Bellamy and I...we kind of hooked up yesterday.” There’s suddenly an uproar, a clamor amongst the group that’s a mix of whistles, questions, and high-fives. Raven laughs it off, while Clarke feels like her stomach plunged off a cliff without her.

“It was nothing, Bellamy and I are just friends. It was a one time thing. But we were at work before I came over to Harper’s and I was complaining about how I needed a rebound, how I’d only been with Finn. He offered, one thing led to another and…” she trails off purposely.

Clarke thinks she's going to be sick. Something is coursing through her that she can't physically handle.  _Jealousy? Disappointment? Humiliation? Some ancient feeling that transcends the written language, one that she has no right to feel._

 _Bellamy can hook up with anyone he wants_ , she reminds herself. _Roma, Bree...even Raven. He’s not yours, he can’t ever be. It’s stupid to feel this way. You’re stupid, Clarke_.

Clarke glances at Raven. Her new friend is undeniably attractive. Long thin limbs, tan head to toe, full lips, big brown eyes, and warm brown waves when she decides to take her hair out of the pony tail she always sports. She can hardly blame him - and yet, irrationally, she does. Clarke thinks about herself and realizes maybe it hurts because she's truly the opposite of Raven - all pale curves, fair hair and blue eyes. Quiet and closed off, where Raven is bold and confident. 

Raven is the first one to notice her silence.

“You okay, Clarke? You’re quiet over there.”

Clarke forces a laugh, hoping it sounds genuine. “Yea, I just don’t love hearing about Bellamy’s sex life!” she scolds playfully, swatting at her with a towel. Her awkward silence is forgotten.

“Um...on the topic of boys. I might have failed to mention that Monty and I hooked up last week,” says Harper, blushing softly in a way that contradicts her own usual boldness. The same clamor follows and Clarke catches Bellamy glance over at the uproar coming from their group. He gives her a smirk when he catches her eye, but she looks away quickly.

\--∞--

Clarke is curled up on her bed later that night, hair still damp from the shower, with the first season of the Good Place streaming on her TV. She can barely pay attention to it, keeps finding herself just staring at the wall with dead eyes. She feels depressed, a numbing kind of sadness deep in her bones. It makes her feel exhausted.

She’s having a hard time placing exactly why she’s so down. Part of her is obviously bothered by the fact Bellamy and Raven hooked up. She’s self aware enough to understand she has feelings she shouldn’t for Bellamy. For some reason, it makes it even worse that it was Bellamy’s idea. He didn’t give into a tempting suggestion, it was _his_ idea.

Yet here she is, feeling frustrated because he’s not hers to have. He’s Raven’s...or anyone else he wants. But never hers.

Yet, there’s more to it than that. There’s Harper’s big news, that she slept with Monty. She can barely wrap her head around that, didn’t even know they were interested in each other. Then to think they actually had _sex_ was a strange thought. She’s happy for them, she really is. They’re two of her best friends and they deserve each other.

Yet, there’s these horrible feelings that surface at the thought. It’s a jealousy of some kind, but not the sharp jealousy she has of Raven. It’s...anxiety, of some kind. Fear and self-doubt because suddenly she’s falling behind her friends in some essential way. _Isolated_ , she thinks. _That’s the word._

Finn had been her first real kiss, unless you counted a peck from Atom during a game of spin the bottle in seventh grade (she didn’t). Her first real kiss had been scary...shameful. Her kiss caused a break up. Regardless of the fact that she thinks Raven is better off without Finn, she never wanted to be caught in the middle of something like that. Now her friends are having sex, finding love with one another, and she just feels...behind. _Alone_.

A knock on her window startles her out of the rabbit hole her mind is diving down. Before she can sit up properly, Bellamy is already pulling the window up, crouching outside of it on the roof.

 _Great_ , she thinks. _Good to know there’s nowhere I can actually be alone anymore._

He looks her up and down, confusion clear in his expression. She’s wearing leggings and a t-shirt two sizes too big, her hair a damp mess of frizzy waves.

“Aren’t you coming to Connor’s fire tonight?”

He’s truly the last person she wants to talk to right now, the last person she can bear to be around.

“No,” she answers, laying back down, eyes back on the TV. She glances at him when he doesn’t show any indication of leaving. His face is suddenly full of concern, and she feels a little bad.

“What happened?” he asks finally, his face soft. Open and ready to listen. The worst part is, if half her problems weren’t _about_ Bellamy, he’s exactly the person she would run to about them.

“Nothing happened, I’m just tired and not in the mood.”

He just keeps looking at her, as if he can see right through her.

“I’m fine, Bellamy. I just want to be alone tonight. And can you do me a favor and use the door next time like a civilized person?” she snaps at him. His face hardens a bit, but he just rolls his eyes.

“Suit yourself, Princess,” he tells her as he shuts the window, presumably shimmying off the roof and into the night. That means he’ll be out late, past curfew. Maybe he plans on staying out late with someone else...someone like Raven.

She scolds herself, pushing him from her mind. She’s got to get a grip.

\--∞--

The fire is blazing high when Bellamy arrives in the field about a mile from Connor’s house. His family owns a farm, making his place a primary location when it comes to bonfires. Pretty much everyone is already there. 

 _Save Clarke, of course_ , he thinks. But his life has got to stop being defined by her presence or absence. He can have a good time tonight, with his other friends and countless other classmates.

He goes to the cooler to grab a beer when he sees Raven a short distance away, chatting with Maya and Jasper. She catches his eye and waves at him, a smile on her face. It’s genuine, her smile, and relief floods through him. It reassures him he has nothing to worry about regarding their friendship. No awkward tension between the two of them.

_The idea popped into his head when she confided in him that she was still hung up on Finn. Even though she had no intentions of going back to him, she was also having trouble moving on._

_Sounds familiar, he had thought. Being hung up on someone you can’t, or shouldn’t, be with._

_When she started talking about how it was even harder to move on since there was no one else, it dawned on him that he hadn’t made any effort to be with anyone since Bree, since the intensity of his feelings for Clarke were truly realized. Hell, not only had he made no effort, he had turned down the offers that fell right into his lap._

_Maybe Raven was onto something here._

_Before he could think about what it would mean, he was offering. She looked hesitant at first, but before he could take it back she was kissing him as she backed him into the car she was working on._

_They shed their clothes quickly in Sinclair’s office, since he had gone home earlier in the afternoon. It wasn’t that she had no affect on him as their mouths collided, as she ran her hands down his bare back. Yet, he knew in the back of his mind he’s rather have Clarke’s head on his shoulder, asleep halfway through a movie in their living room, than Raven’s lips on his._

_In the back of his mind, he even hoped he would suddenly feel a spark of some kind for Raven. Hell, they got along as friends and he thought she was hot. Yet, something was missing. Something essential, although he couldn’t place exactly what it was._

_He felt terrible when he thought of Clarke’s smile as he unbuttoned Raven’s pants, thought of Clarke's eyes when he began thrusting into Raven at a steady pace._

_When it was over, he was awash with guilt. He felt like he had taken advantage of Raven, used her in some ill-fated attempt to move on from Clarke. Yet, one look at the guilty grimace on Raven’s face as she pulled her shirt back on told him the feeling was mutual. For both of them, it was simply physical satisfaction while their minds were elsewhere. No spark between them, despite their friendship._

_"I'm sorry-," he started, at the same he heard her say, "Listen-"_

_They both laughed, a little awkwardly, and agreed that it should remain a one time thing. Agreed they were better off as friends._

Bellamy pops open his can of bud light and makes his way over to where Miller and Pascal are talking. He feels Clarke’s absence again, despite the fact she wasn’t even an attendee at these gatherings just two months ago.

He’s become too accustomed to having her around at these things. Laughing as she takes shots with Harper. Her competitive streak ablaze as she kick’s Murphy’s ass in pong. Ironically, her absence is the only thing that holds his attention. He nods along at Pascal’s story, not listening at all, as he wonders why Clarke was so upset earlier. He wishes she were here with him.

 _Great,_ he thinks a couple of hours later as he hoists himself onto the roof. _I can’t even have a good time without her anymore. I didn’t even have to sneak out, I would have made it home sober and before curfew anyways._

He climbs through his window and walks across the hall, hesitating for a moment before he taps lightly on her door. He knows he should leave well enough alone when he doesn’t hear a reply, but he finds himself opening the door, just a crack so the hallway light doesn’t spill in.

The room is dark but the TV is still on, casting a soft blue light over the room. She’s passed out, curled on her side with her blanket at her feet. He turns off the TV and pulls the blanket over her before he heads back across the hall.

\--∞--

Bellamy reels in the pool lane lines while Clarke straightens out the lounge chairs on the deck. The pool closes at dusk but the sun set as they started their closing duties, leaving them to work under a dark, clear sky filled with bright stars. 

Bellamy wipes the sweat off his brow with his forearm as he finishes with the lines, the heat still a bit suffocating. He glances at Clarke, wearing a pair of soft red shorts and a white t-shirt with the word LIFEGUARD printed across the front in red block letters. He can see her red one piece when her t-shirt rises up as she bends over to reach the lounge chair, dragging it into place against the fence. He shakes his head slightly at himself when he realizes he’s staring, as if waking himself from a daydream.

She’s been quiet...strange for the past few days. Not mean, not cold...distant. He notices she’s never home, even though she's definitely one to enjoy her alone time. Instead, when she’s not at work, she’s hanging out with friends away from the house at all times. They go to the same party and barely talk, somehow never in the same place for long.

He walks over to her and starts dragging the lounge chairs back to the fence with her.

“I’ve got this, you don’t have to help,” she tells him without looking up, the lounge scraping across the cement deck as she drags it away.

“I don’t mind. This is the last thing to do anyways,” he tells her.

“Okay.” Her voice is indifferent.

He glances at her and suddenly, he can’t take it.

“Are you okay? Did I do something? If I did, I’d rather you just tell me.” He tries to keep his voice light, like he’s baiting a frightened animal. He sees her stiffen.

“Of course not, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve been acting strange for days. Something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s _wrong._ ” Her voice is more defensive now, and that’s how he knows she’s lying.

“ _Yes_ , there is. I know you, Clarke. I know something is wrong,” he says, his voice more insistent this time. He can feel himself growing frustrated with her, and bites the bottom of his lip as he tries to remain patient.

“Oh, right. You _know_ me,” she says in a mocking tone. “Can’t you ever leave things well enough alone?” She sighs and he senses the anger sparking in her, even as she attempts to keep her voice at a lower level of casual annoyance.

“You know I can’t. So you might as well spit it out.”

“Don’t you have someone else to irritate? Why don’t you go bother Raven instead?” she blurts, her voice rising. He can tell it slipped out by the way she turns away from him, towards the pool. The pool lights reflect across her face in pale blue ripples. Even so, he can see the blush in her cheeks, and is more confused than ever.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

To his surprise, she doubles down instead of backing down. He shouldn’t be surprised though. This is the Clarke he’s always known.

“Screw who you want Bellamy, it’s just she’s my _friend_.”

His brow shoots up in disbelief at that. So _that’s_ what this is about. He doesn’t even know how she knows or why she cares, but she’s out of line.

“ _Your_ friend?” he says, his own voice rising now. “I seem to remember being friends with her for a long time before you. Not that it’s any of your business whether Raven and I have sex.”

“Well, she told me so I guess it is,” she spits.

“Really? Is that so? Well, if that’s the way it works, if that’s what you want to talk about, let’s talk about the reason Raven wanted a rebound hook up.” Her gaze is deadly, as if she wants to set him on fire with her eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he’s crossing a line. But he can’t stop himself, barreling ahead before he can think about it.

“Maybe because she found _you_ and _her boyfriend_ of _years_ together. But that’s right, we’re not allowed to talk about that night, right? Only who I screw. That's the way it works?” The silence when he finishes is deafening, his heart pumping in his ears.

Bellamy knows he took it too far, the look of despair on her face when he found her in that bedroom a month ago flashing across his mind. But he can’t bring himself to back down, to take it back. She looks at him like she could burn a hole right through him.

“Fuck _you_ , Bellamy,” she says finally, seething. He glimpses angry tears gathering in her eyes right as she moves to push him into the pool. He manages to grab one of her arms on the way down, dragging her in with him.

There’s a split second when his world is the unique kind of silence that only exists under water. A moment later, he breaks through the surface, gasping.

“What the _fuck_ , Clarke?!” he yells at her, nearly growling. “Are you fucking nuts?!”

For the smallest moment, his anger is replaced with desire when he takes her in. Wet hair slicked back with her white t-shirt clinging to her curves, that smoldering expression on her face. But it disappears as quickly as it arrives, his anger and frustration with her back like it never left.

Clarke says nothing, just storms to the side of the pool as quickly as she can wade through the water. She climbs out, grabs a towel, and just walks away into the night. He registers the echo of the gate banging shut, but still doesn’t move.

He stands in the pool, making no effort to get out, staring at where she was standing a minute ago. He’s dumbfounded at what the _hell_ just happened, with only one thought on his mind. _I guess the truce is over._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that comes on in the car is "Kiss Me" by Casey Donahew. Even if you're not a fan of country, you should give it a listen, it's a pretty cute song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4sSrFXId47A). 
> 
> I'll post again early next week - the story's going to move on from secretive mutual pining to some "corroboration" soon :)


	6. Fireworks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the comments and kudos!

Clarke and Bellamy fall back into their old ways with ease, two alcoholics tossing out their chips in favor of the familiar burn of the bottle.

His nicknames become spiteful again. “Princess,” he spits with malice, his tone no longer teasing or playful. She nags him about everything. He changes the password to the netflix account so she can’t log in. She tears the last few pages out of his book in retaliation. And so on and so on.

Clarke counts down the last few days she has to make it through before she’s clear of him, until she can enjoy the beach in peace. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take long for the family to realize Bellamy and Clarke have collectively fallen off the wagon.

They’re all sitting down to dinner together, a rare occasion in the busyness of summer. The tension is palpable, even in their silence. Bellamy and Clarke grunt or hum at all of Aurora and Jake’s comments and questions while Octavia nervously glances between the two of them between bites.

Fifteen minutes in, Jake sets down his silverware in a dramatic gesture.

“Okay, what’s going on? I thought you two were getting along.”

Clarke spares a glance at Bellamy but he’s looking down at his plate. If someone asked her why she pushed him into a pool and ignited this war, she doesn’t even know if she could provide a straight answer. Like old times, she wants to tear him to pieces again. Yet, it’s different now. It’s...sad.

Before, they antagonized each other for sport but neither of them cared enough about the other or their opinion of them to feel much more than annoyance. Now, they’ve hurt each other - purposely said things they knew the other would feel deeply. This time, they knew each other well enough to know exactly how to hurt the other. They succeeded.

“So?” Jake asks again when neither of them answer.

Clarke isn’t worried about Bellamy telling Jake about the pool incident. She might not be able to give a singular reason for why she acted like an insane person, but whatever the reasoning is, it’s too wrapped up in him having sex with Raven, in Clarke almost having sex with Finn, in both of them getting drunk at parties they aren’t supposed to be at. It’s mutually assured destruction and neither of them is going to launch the first missile.

Aurora sighs when they both refuse to answer. Clarke doesn’t miss the worry lines that emerge on Bellamy’s face, his guilt evident before he can school his expression back into indifference.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure you can work it out,” Aurora continues, forever the optimist, never one to handle conflict well. Clarke likes Aurora, maybe even loves her after all these years. Yet it’s always something that’s irritated Clarke, how she can’t seem to handle things. She would rather brush everything under the rug.

 _Weak_ , Clarke thinks, but immediately feels bad when the word pops into her mind.

“It would be nice if we’re all on good terms before the four of us leave on Friday,” she adds.

Clarke sees Bellamy perk up at that. He looks up at her, making eye contact quickly without anyone else noticing. His eyes are pure mischief and her face turns red with anger because she knows what he’s going to say before it’s out of his mouth.

“Actually, I think I’m going to come to the beach this year,” he announces, his tone casual. Clarke rolls her eyes. He’s going to spend an entire week at the beach with the family for the sole purpose of annoying her.

“Well, this’ll be good,” she hears Octavia sarcastically mutter, sounding worried but a little amused.

She sees her dad exchange a weary glance with Aurora, but neither are about to tell him he’s not allowed to join. In fact, they’ve been _trying_ to get him to join every year since he stopped coming.

It’s Jake who finally speaks first.

“Good - but there won’t be any of this,” he says pointedly, gesturing between Bellamy and Clarke with his fork. “It’ll be an opportunity to work this out and spend time as a family. There will _not_ be any fighting. Understood?”

Bellamy nods and Clarke says nothing, too angry to agree but knowing it’s not worth a protest.

Everyone goes back to eating and Clarke takes the opportunity to sneak a glance at Bellamy from across the table. He’s looking down at his plate while he eats, as if his chicken requires the utmost attention.

When she notices a small smirk itching the corners his mouth, she has to steel herself. She digs her nails into her thigh to keep from lunging across the table to slap it off his face.

\--∞--

“Is that everything?” Jake asks. The five of them are standing in the driveway while Aurora puts their last bag into the trunk. Despite Bellamy’s pleas to let him drive the truck down separately, their parents have decided it's necessary to leave and arrive as one family.

Maybe they think the two hour ride will be good for them, will force them to get over their fight since there's nowhere to escape to.

 _Good luck with that_ , Clarke thinks.

“I am _not_ sitting in the middle for two hours just because Bellamy decided to come along,” warns Octavia, crossing her arms and standing up straight. She looks like she’s ready for battle.

Clarke sees Bellamy’s shoulders tense, his expression a little bit offended. Just last year, Octavia would have been ecstatic to have Bellamy coming. Hell, she would have sat in the trunk if it meant Bellamy would come. Yet, this summer more than ever, she’s begun to pull away from him. The more she does, the tighter Bellamy holds onto her.

Clarke can’t really blame her for drawing the line here though. Octavia always ends up getting the short end of the stick when it comes to seating given that Clarke and Bellamy usually need to be five feet apart at all times.

Aurora looks like she’s about to tell Octavia to deal with it, but one look at Octavia’s face tells Clarke her mood will take down the whole car if someone doesn’t make the sacrifice. Besides, Clarke can’t help but feel guilty for making Octavia anxious every time her and Bellamy have a skirmish of some kind.

“It’s fine, I’ll take the middle seat,” Clarke volunteers. She climbs into the SUV before anyone has a chance to respond.

“Thank youuu,” Octavia sings as she hops in on Clarke’s left a moment later, sounding delighted to have gotten her way. Bellamy climbs in on Clarke's right with a simple eye roll.

Clarke pulls her seat belt over her left shoulder towards her buckle next to Bellamy. She struggles to buckle it, the space tight between the three of him, and can sense Bellamy watching her as she does.

“Here,” he huffs, sounding exasperated but taking the seat belt from her. She opens her mouth to argue, to tell him she can do it herself, when she feels his fingers brush along her legs and waist as he pulls the belt across her body. The argument dies in her throat.

He must feel the tension in the tight space too; she notices his ears turn red as he clicks the belt into place and immediately makes an effort to sit as close to the window as possible. It doesn’t matter though. It’s a tight squeeze and impossible to sit next to each other without their thighs touching, without their legs brushing against each other with each shift in position.

\--∞--

Two hours later, Clarke picks her head up off of Octavia’s shoulder and sits up straight as the girl gently shakes her awake. Something about long car rides puts Clarke to sleep pretty immediately every time.

“We’re here,” Octavia tells her. Clarke looks out the window on Bellamy’s side to see the familiar island road, house after house lining both sides with small stores and restaurants sprinkled in. Unlike Folly Beach and other Charleston neighborhoods, their house is in a more local area where they can avoid the tourists and hotels.

Bellamy has his headphones on and is staring out the same window through wayfarer sunglasses, drumming his finger against his thigh to what she assumes is the beat of the song playing on his iPhone.

“Everyone helps,” Jake commands as they pull into their driveway five minutes later.

The three of them obey, taking in suitcases and grocery bags as they make their way into the house. Clarke sets the groceries on the kitchen island and watches as Bellamy heads out to the back deck. He takes in the view of the ocean as he stands with his hands on his hips, his sunglasses still on and headphones still in.

Aurora and Octavia walk in a minute later and Clarke rips her eyes from Bellamy’s back as quickly as she can. Engrossed in their conversation, no one notices her staring.

“Okay, we’ll probably head to Grounders Cafe for dinner in a few hours,” Aurora tells them as she begins to unpack the food.

“Perfect, just enough time,” Octavia says, turning to Clarke.

Clarke smiles at her, knowing exactly what she’s referring to.

“Okay, let’s go change,” she answers. Readying herself for tradition puts her in a lighter mood and she almost forgets the intruder in their house this year. _Almost._

\--∞--

Bellamy throws his duffle bag onto the bed of the room he’s staying in. Clarke and Octavia each have their own room, so he supposes this is technically _his_ room. But it’s been years since he’s been here and he thinks it might be more accurately labeled a guest room at this point.

Maybe it’s not actually the fact that he’s been absent in recent years as much as the fact he never really felt at home here to begin with. Kind of like their house in Arkadia, but at least he’s used to that one. Yet, he feels the same way here as he felt when they first moved into their new house. _Too big. Too luxurious. I don’t belong here. When is the universe going to realize that and kick me out._

He wishes he could just relax, turn off that part of him that always feels on edge, on duty. That part of him that is always anticipating the other shoe dropping and feels the need to be ready to swoop in and take responsibility again. Feels the need to be ready to take care of Octavia again, and his Mom again when she inevitably falls apart. The rational part of him knows their life is safe, secure...settled. Yet, he’s never been one to let his head take the lead. He wants to make his Dad proud, he wants to take care of them the way he would have.

Still, he actually remembers liking it here the two summers he did come down. He remembers feeling like it was a bubble, a dream where he could let his guard down. In those past weeks spent at the beach, he promised he would be back on duty once they were back home but allowed himself to temporarily give into the carelessness of childhood. Maybe he can do that again.

 _No_ , he reminds himself. _I can’t because Clarke is here. I can’t let my guard down around her again. I don’t trust myself around her when I do._

Bellamy doesn’t bother unpacking and walks back downstairs with a book in hand. He finds his mother standing on the back deck with her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun, looking out where he stood just five minutes ago.

When he walks up next to her, he realizes she’s watching Clarke and Octavia running across the beach from their house to the ocean. He smiles as he takes them in. They’re trying to sprint but the sand is slowing them down. They occasionally push each other, playfully trying to knock the other one down.

The ways in which he loves them couldn’t be more different, but they’re still his girls at the end of the day. He imagines what it would be like to think of Clarke as only a sister, how uncomplicated it would all be. Yet, for some bewildering reason, he doesn’t wish for it. Even unrequited, even wrong, he still would rather know how it feels to love her. No matter how painful, and in spite of the fact she won’t ever be his.

“They do this every year,” Aurora explains fondly. “Race each other down to the beach. Clarke is ahead by one year.”

 _Of course she is_ , is his initial reaction. Then he remembers she’s racing Octavia, who is one of the few who truly rivals Clarke in her competitiveness and stubbornness.  

“Well Octavia has the speed, but Clarke has the endurance,” he answers, the discarded memory of them doing this as children coming back to him. He settles into a chair and opens his book. “I’d imagine it’s a close race.”

Aurora doesn't answer, but Bellamy can feel his mother’s gaze on him as she turns around to face him, leaning against the railing.

“What?” he asks, not looking up from his book.

“Oh nothing, just looking at my boy. Aren’t I allowed to do that?” she asks playfully. Bellamy can hear the warm admiration in her voice.

“Admiring our good genes?” he asks with a smirk. She moves to sit in the chair next to him.

“Do you want to talk about what Clarke and you are fighting about?” Aurora asks.

Bellamy sets his book down with a sigh, momentarily giving up on it. _No, he doesn’t want to talk about it._

“Clarke and I always fight, I’m sorry it upsets you guys. We don’t hate each other, really, we’re just...polar opposites. We annoy each other.”

She hums in response.

“Usually, when things repel, it’s because they’re alike. Maybe you two are too alike, and just need to make an effort to find out what that common ground is. You seem to have managed fine the last few months.”

“We’ll see,” he answers dismissively.

“I’m always here sweetheart, if you do want to talk. If you want to talk about anything. You know that right?”

He feels the anger flare up from the place he locked it away in more than seven years ago. The anger he always swallows, the resentment he feels guilty about having.

 _You’re always here?_ , he wants to scream at her.

 _Where were you for more than three years of my childhood? if you can even call it a childhood_ , he wants to ask her.

 _Will you still be here if something happens to Jake, or will you become a ghost again at the earliest sign of trouble_?

He swallows hard so that tears don’t spring up, locking those feelings away again. These are things he’ll never voice, especially not to her.

“I know that Mom, I love you,” he answers instead. She kisses the top of his head and walks back into the house.

\--∞--

Clarke’s exhausted in a wonderful way when her head hits the pillow the next night. She started her morning with a run along the beach and then spent the entire day by the water, swimming and laying in the sun. Her dad grilled for dinner and they sat outside while they ate, eventually moving to the fire pit to toast s’mores under the stars.

She feels the blissful tiredness that follows a long day in the sun and shower to wash off the mix of sunscreen and sand coating your skin. Her skin still feels warm, although she wasn’t burned too badly. Only enough that it will eventually fade into a tan.

She’s pleasantly surprised by how well things are going, with Bellamy being there and all. Unexpectedly, he seemed to be taking Jake’s command to get along to heart. Not that they talked to each other with the easy familiarity they had fallen into over last few months, but they didn’t go out of their way to be cruel to each other either. They just stayed clear of one another, it was as simple as that.

Clarke turns on her side, suddenly very awake at the thought of him. She lets her mind wander, imagining what it might feel like to run her hands through his hair, to feel his hands on her waist, to feel his weight on top of her. She wonders what it would be like to have Bellamy invade all her senses.

She fights the urge to rub her thighs together, seeking friction just at the thought of him. She nearly lets her hand wander with her mind, but draws the line there, shaking her head as if she can physically rid him from her thoughts.

 _Maybe it’s better we remain estranged_ , she thinks.

 _Maybe this is the only way I can get over him._ Despite their fight, despite the very real anger she feels, it didn’t make the want go away.

 _Doesn’t make the love go away_ , whispers the smallest of voices deep inside her, so quiet she can barely hear it. She pretends she didn’t.

\--∞--

The morning of the 4th, they sit down to breakfast on the back deck. The table is covered in mugs of coffee, a bowl of various fruits, stacks of pancakes, and plates of scrambled eggs. Clarke yawns heavily, gulping down more coffee. She’s been trying to wake up early here so she doesn’t waste the days, but it’s easier said than done.

Clarke doesn’t bother looking at her phone when it buzzes. She knows who it is, has told him repeatedly to leave her alone, and thinks it won’t make a difference if she says it for the tenth time.

Octavia, however, does look.

“Who’s Finn?” she asks from Clarke’s right, glancing at the phone. Clarke narrows her eyes at her and Octavia flushes, looking down sheepishly as she realizes she unintentionally blurted something she wasn’t supposed to.

She can practically feel the tension radiating off of Bellamy, his hand gripping his fork as he looks up at her in disbelief.

“It’s no one,” Clarke says dismissively, but now her dad and Aurora are interested.

“Doesn’t sound like no one. Is there a boy in the picture?” asks Aurora, sounding hopeful and genuinely interested.

“Finn sounds familiar. Is he in your class, Clarke?” her dad adds.

“No, he’s in my class,” Bellamy answers in a clipped voice. “He used to date my friend Raven, but rumor has it he cheated on her with someone else.”

Clarke hopes no one sees how red her face becomes. Her throat feels dry and she shoots a look at Bellamy that promises she’ll deal with him later.

“That doesn’t sound like the kind of boy you should be hanging around,” her dad says, his voice now concerned.

“Well, that’s not a problem. I’m not _hanging_ with anyone, least of all Finn. He just had a question about something.” Clarke prays they drop the subject.

“So what’s the plan for today anyways?” Octavia asks, clearly changing the subject, but no one protests. She mouths _sorry_ at Clarke once the conversation around the table starts up again. Clarke rolls her eyes at her but with no heat behind it, Octavia already forgiven.

\--∞--

That evening, the family heads to downtown for shopping and dinner. It’s tradition for them to watch the Patriot's Point fireworks show after sundown from Waterfront Park and this year is no different.

“Is that old used bookstore somewhere around here?” Bellamy asks as they sit at a table outside a cafe in the French Quarter, finishing the last of their dinner.

“Yea, Trading Post Books? It’s right around the corner, two blocks up and one to the left,” Jake answers.

“You kids don’t have to hang around us, feel free to wander. Just keep your phones on so we can reach you and we’ll find a spot to meet at the park for the fireworks,” he adds.

“Sounds good to me,” Bellamy says, standing to leave. He waves goodbye, holding up his phone as proof he’ll be reachable, and walks in the direction of the bookstore.

“He’ll be in there for hours,” Octavia says, mocking him fondly. “Want to check out that boutique we found last year?” she asks, turning to Clarke.

“As long as you give me at least thirty minutes in the art supply shop,” Clarke bargains.

“Deal,” Octavia agrees, and they wander off in the opposite direction of Bellamy.

They’re only in the boutique for about fifteen minutes, when Clarke decides it's as good a time as any to confront Bellamy about his comment at breakfast. Sure, she wants to yell at him for simply being a _dick_ , but she also wants to set the record straight and explain that she’s definitely _not_ talking to Finn before he does something stupid like tell Raven that.

“Hey, I’m actually going to go check out Trading Post. I totally forgot I wanted to see if they have this book on 18th century art I’ve been looking for,” Clarke tells Octavia, knowing she’ll have zero interest in coming along.

“Lame,” Octavia tells her without looking up from the necklace she’s eyeing. “Just text me when you’re done and I’ll let you know where to meet me,” she adds.

“Okay, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Ten minutes later, Clarke opens the door to Trading Post, the bell over the door announcing her presence. It’s in an old victorian row house, and can best be described as organized chaos. Books are stacked in every corner of every room, on shelves and on piles on the floor. The genres are very loosely labeled on the book shelves and on wall signs, with commentary from the owner sprinkled in among the labels.

She finds Bellamy where she expected to, on the second level in a small back room filled to the brim with historical non-fiction pieces. His back is to her and he’s focusing so intently on reading the back of a book that he doesn’t hear her come in.

“What the hell was that today?” Clarke asks, by way of greeting. He jumps slightly, surprised by her presence, and she smiles to herself in satisfaction. “Could you be anymore of an asshole?”

He collects himself, taking her in. His brow shoots up like he can’t believe she’s found him at fault.

“Did you walk all the way across town on your own, no royal escorts, just to hang out with me?” he quips, that stupid smirk on his face.

“Brave Princess,” he adds with mock admiration when she glares in response. The term itches at the edges of her memory, but she can’t place why the nickname sounds so familiar, why it makes her stomach flip.

“I’m serious Bellamy. You can’t possibly think I’m talking to Finn after everything, yet you go ahead and say that shit in front of our family?” She watches as the cockiness melts off his face and real anger replaces it.

“Well I wouldn’t know _what_ to think since you’ve said absolutely nothing, so maybe I was wrong to give you the benefit of the doubt. Given that Raven is apparently  _your_ friend, not mine, I would like to think you wouldn’t be talking to Finn," he spits. "But who really knows. I certainly don’t,” he adds with a shrug, his voice cool.

“Stop with the dramatics Bellamy. Finn has been texting me, and showing up at my work shifts, and every time I tell him to leave me alone. I stopped answering last week because it clearly does nothing, but I’m far from even entertaining the idea of him so you can stop assuming I'm a terrible human being.”

His face looks even angrier. Yet when he speaks, she knows the anger is no longer directed at her.

“What do you mean he won’t leave you alone? Is he threatening you Clarke?”

She can hear how much he’s trying to restrain the anger in his voice. She feels like she has to deescalate the situation for reasons she couldn't have predicted when she walked into the bookstore.

“It’s fine Bellamy, he’s not threatening me,” Clarke assures him. “I can handle it.”

“It doesn’t sound like you’re handling it if he isn’t listening to you,” he argues.

Clarke sighs, exasperated.

“My point is, I’m not talking to him so next time you’re with Raven you don’t need to tell her I’m a home wrecker like you were tempted to tell the family.”

“I’m not _with_ Raven, Clarke,” he says. The intensity in which he says _Clarke_ , the way he’s staring at her, makes her want to run. The conversation continues to be derailed in ways she wasn't expecting.

But she can’t hide her surprise at that. Despite that Raven assured her friends it was a one time thing, Clarke couldn’t help but let her imagination run wild with ideas of Bellamy and Raven together. Ideas that kept her up at night.

“That makes no difference to me. You’re missing the point, which is to quit being an ass,” she snaps.

“Clearly it _does_ make a difference to you. You pushed me in a pool over it,” he says, his voice low. Her heart beats fast as she realizes where this conversation is going, anxiety taking over as she realizes she has no explanation for the things he’s about to ask. They haven’t addressed that night, but apparently they’re going to now.

“No, I pushed you in a pool because for some reason you can’t seem to get it through your head that I don’t want to talk about what happened with Finn. It’s none of your business, it’s nobody’s business,” she argues, her voice rising a little too loud on the empty floor of the bookstore, angry tears threatening to spill.

Bellamy just stares at her, hard to read. She can’t tell if he’s angry still or just looks sad for her. She wipes an escaped tear from her cheek with the back of her hand and leaves the room, refusing to stop until she’s in the street outside the bookstore. She half expects Bellamy to come after her, but she doesn’t.

It’s dusk and they’re supposed to meet at the park soon, so she opens her phone to text Octavia.

 _Great_ , she thinks as she stares at the black screen of her dead phone. On the other hand, being cut off from communication suddenly feels freeing. She’s really not in the right headspace to talk to anyone anyways.

Clarke wanders aimlessly through a park filled with green willow trees as the sun sets, iron gas lamps lining the walkway. Her mind wanders as she does, thinking through her various summers in Charleston, as far back as the years Bellamy was last here.

 _Brave Princess_ , runs through her mind again and suddenly she remembers where she last heard it. Unsurprisingly, it was from his lips.

_Clarke is eleven and it’s the second summer the Blakes come to their beach house, a year after their parents married. Clarke and Bellamy were already fully engaged in war, Bellamy’s cool indifference from the previous summer long gone._

_In fact, Clarke felt miserable with him around. He pulled her pony tails, stole food from her plate when no one was watching, and made fun of her whenever he had the opportunity. Clarke hated him now, the years of longing for his friendship long gone. She lashed out against him with the same intensity of his own cruelty._

_“Why do I have to go with you?” Bellamy complained one morning at breakfast. “Aren’t you old enough to go to the park by yourselves?”_

_“You’re the one who always calls us babies, so guess not!” Octavia counters, wanting him to come with them as badly as he doesn’t want to go. Bellamy looks at the plea on Octavia’s face and Clarke knows he’s going to give in immediately._

_“Fine,” he says, sighing._

_“Oh, you guys will have a good time,” Jake tells him. “It’s a great park and only a ten minute walk from the house.”_

_Bellamy doesn’t answer, just pushes the food around his plate._

_When they reach the park, Clarke and Octavia run towards the jungle gym in delight. Bellamy shakes his head at them and sits down at a bench, pulling out the chapter book on Ancient Sparta he brought with him._

_They’re only there for about twenty minutes when Clarke falls from the high monkey bars, her hand slipping from the humidity. She screams in pain when she lands on her ankle at a harsh angle and Octavia is standing over her a minute later calling for Bellamy._

_What’s he going to do? Clarke thinks. Kick her to double the pain?_

_Bellamy runs over quickly and crouches next to her. Tears stream down her face from the pain as she clutches her ankle._

_“Hey!” he says. “Hey, Clarke, look at me,” he commands in a gentle voice when she ignores him. “What happened?”_

_“She fell off the monkey bars,” Octavia answers for her._

_“I can’t stand up, it hurts too much” Clarke adds._

_“It’s okay, don’t worry. We’re going to get you home and put ice on it, it’ll be fine,” he says. Clarke is surprised at his tone, doesn’t know what to do with the fact that his voice is soothing towards her instead of cruel._

_“Octavia hurt her wrist two years ago and it was as good as new after I wrapped it, right O?” he says, attempting to reassure Clarke. Octavia nods vehemently._

_Bellamy reminds her of an adult, the way he remains calm and speaks confidently. It's hard to believe he's only a year older than her._

_“Okay,” Clarke says in a small voice, her fear subsiding even though the pain isn’t. “I can’t walk, can we call my dad?”_

_“We don’t have a phone,” he tells her. “C’mere, I’ll carry you home, it isn’t far.”_

_Clarke eyes him suspiciously._

_“C’mon, Princess, your chariot awaits,” he tells her, his voice still kind. Bellamy picks her up bridal style and tells Octavia to retrieve his book from the bench._

_“When Octavia is hurt, I tell her to repeat ‘I am not afraid’ and it makes her feel better,” Bellamy tells her as they walk towards Octavia._

_“Does it work?” Clarke asks, her voice cracking from the pain of her throbbing ankle._

_“Why don’t you find out?” he answers. So she does, repeating the phrase under her breath all the way back to the house. She says it so quietly Octavia doesn’t hear her, but Bellamy does. He smiles at her reassuringly._

_Octavia runs ahead into the house once they’re back to get their parents._

_“You made it,” he tells her._

_“Brave Princess,” he adds, a rare show of affection in his tone. A moment later, Jake runs out of the house with Aurora and Octavia in tow._

_It’s the first time he says that nickname with affection, not disdain, and Clarke hopes maybe this will be a turning point. Maybe they can be friends. It isn’t in the end, of course._

Clarke heads towards the park, knowing she’s late to meet her family. It'll be hard to find them in the crowd, but she's having a hard time caring.

\--∞--

Bellamy walks over to the tree in the park where his mom texted the group for them to meet at. He sees their parents waiting with Octavia, but no Clarke yet.

Bellamy doesn’t know what to make of their conversation, doesn’t know what to do with her. He can’t make her open up, can’t seem to do anything to disassemble her walls on his own. All he really knows is that he’s tired of fighting with her. He misses her even when he’s angry at her, even when she’s standing right in front of him. She’s never seemed so far away.

The park is already crowded, people of all ages gathering in groups to watch the show and kids running around between them. It's a good thing they chose a meeting place; he’s not sure he would have found them otherwise.

“Where’s Clarke?” he asks as he approaches them.

“We were hoping she was with you,” Jake says with a grimace. “She didn’t answer the text and when we called her phone it went straight to voicemail, either dead or turned off.”

Bellamy’s stomach swirls with nerves when he thinks of how upset she was when she stormed out of the bookstore. He should have followed her, should have made sure she was okay. He scratches his head, feeling guilty and responsible, whether it’s rational or not.

“Why don’t you guys stay here and I’ll go look for her,” Bellamy suggests. Everyone looks like they’re about to argue, about to insist they look too.

“It won’t help if we all split up and leave where we told her to meet us, in case she gets the message,” he adds.

Jake agrees, telling them he and Bellamy will look for her and Aurora and Octavia should stay at the meeting spot. Bellamy takes off in a different direction than Jake, promising to text if he finds her.

Bellamy’s been wandering through the crowd for over twenty minutes, still no sign of Clarke. He checks his phone obsessively but receives no word from the others. His brain recycles every horrible thing that could have possibly happened to her, dread filling every inch of his body at the thought of losing her.

Ten minutes later, he makes his way through the crowd on the beach below the park, his nerves ablaze. That’s when he sees her, blonde hair loose and flowing, her face turned towards the sky. The colors of the fireworks are a rainbow of light reflecting off her face.

She’s sitting there calmly, just...sitting there. No care in the world, as he’s on the verge of a heart attack over her.

“Clarke!” he calls, marching over to her. Her head snaps up in response, hearing her name over the boom of the fireworks. She looks confused by what he assumes is a furious look on his face as he approaches her.

“What the hell, Clarke? Where is your phone?” he demands. She opens her mouth to answer, but he doesn’t let her.

“Do you know how worried sick I- _we_ were?” he yells, a few people around them now turning to stare.

“Bellamy, my phone died. I was just going to find you guys after the crowd died down,” she says, her voice soft like she’s trying to calm him.

“Well that’s great, given that no one knew that. No one knew where you were Clarke, we thought something happened to you, good to know you don’t give a damn,” he yells.

She huffs at that.

“Is something funny?” he asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, that you’re acting like you give a damn about me,” she says cooly, all the emotion that had spilled from her in the bookstore now meticulously locked away.

He slams his phone into her hands.

“Here, call your dad,” he tells her, storming off further down the beach and towards the pier.

He can hear her calling him, hear her apologizing as she pushes people aside to reach him. Still, he doesn’t stop. He just keeps walking straight towards the pier.

\--∞--

Clarke chases Bellamy as he storms down the beach in the direction of the pier, bewildered at why he’s so upset with her. She finally catches up with him as the crowd thins out and he walks under the pier, the space empty and dark.

“Bellamy, _stop_ ,” she says, grabbing his arm and out of breath when she finally catches up with him. He does stop, but he doesn’t turn around. Even from behind him, she can see how tense he is.

“Bellamy, why are you so upset? I’m sorry, I really didn’t think it was a big deal, don’t you think you’re overrea-”

He spins around to face her and she stops talking immediately.

“Overreacting?” he says quietly, as if he’s milling over the word. His sudden calmness scares her and she’s afraid to answer him when she sees how is jaw is clenched. 

“I don’t _give_ a damn about you, huh?” he snaps when she says nothing. He runs his hand through his hair, his body thrumming with nervous energy. She thinks he’s shaking slightly.

“Clarke, how could you think that?” he asks, bewildered. He shakes his head, looking at the ground.

“After every thing, how could you not know, how can you not see it?” he continues, his voice cracking with emotion. He looks up at her now. A firework explodes in the sky, lighting up his face. All she can see is his blown pupils, swallowing the brown of his irises.

“Bellamy…” she starts, not sure what to say next. Her voice is raw with want, and she wonders if he can tell. The last thing she sees is him swallowing thickly.

The next moment, his mouth is on hers before she can even fully comprehend what’s happening. His large hands cradle her face and she gives into the kiss immediately, not giving him a chance to break away. Not giving either of them a chance to change their minds or remember why this is a terrible idea.

His lips are as soft as she imagined and desire shoots straight through her when he bites her bottom lip and slowly swipes his tongue across it. She opens her mouth to his, welcomes his tongue and tries to memorize his taste, already afraid she'll never get to experience it again.

Their kisses grow desperate and sloppy, teeth clacking as they try to pull each other even closer, physics be damned. He pulls away for a moment but before she can complain, he lifts her up on a cement block attached to one of the pillars holding up the pier. She’s now sitting level with his waist and his mouth is back on hers in an instant.

She wraps her legs around him to pull him in even closer, panting his name as his lips leave her mouth, exploring her jaw with kisses before eventually making his way down her neck. She reaches out to pull him even closer, her hands exploring the bare skin of his stomach and back under his t-shirt. He stops kissing her for a moment but leaves his face buried in the crook of her neck.

“Clarke,” he croaks, in response to her hands.

“Clarke, I’ve wanted this, wanted you, for so long,” he whispers as he starts pressing hot open mouth kisses along her neck and shoulder. The desire goes straight to her center, the throb between her legs growing unbearable.

She tangles a hand in his hair as he moves back to kiss her lips again, this time slower, as if he’s desperate to commit every movement of their mouths to memory. He runs his hands up the outside of her thighs and onto the bare skin of her waist under her tank top.

“Bell…” she moans against his lips, hardly able to form words. “I need you to, I need you…” she trails off.

He pulls away from their kiss as his grip on her waist tightens in a way that she’s sure will leave bruises. He looks absolutely wrecked, and she’s sure she looks the same.

He goes back to stroking her sides under her tank top and she tries to pull him in even closer.

“What do you need, Princess,” he whispers, his voice rough with lust. He presses a surprisingly tender kiss to the skin right beside her mouth that makes her feel like she could cry with joy, with how much she wants him, loves him.

She doesn’t get a chance to answer, the loud ringing of his phone that she had dropped on the ground in the chaos of their kiss making them both jump. Bellamy keeps his forehead on hers, reluctant to move away, but tearing his gaze from her a moment later.

They both see her dad’s name flash across the screen and the moment is shred to pieces.

Bellamy moves away from her quickly, rubbing a hand across his eyes.

“Oh god,” Clarke starts, running her hands across her face and climbing off the block.

The immense panic and guilt she feels washing through her are like nothing she’s ever experienced. Bellamy reaches down to pick up the phone and Clarke looks at him with a bewildered expression when he answers it.

“Hey Jake - Yea, I literally just found her two seconds ago.” There’s a pause and Bellamy looks at her with an unreadable expression on his face. “Yea, her phone died, she couldn’t find us but we’re heading back right now.”

When Bellamy hangs up, they just stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do or say. All the desire she felt just moments ago replaced with unbearable anxiety.

“I…” Bellamy starts, finally breaking through the silence.

“We - I can’t talk about this right now. We have to go,” she says, cutting him off.

He sighs, sounding relieved, and nods.

They walk in silence back to the meeting point, back to the family they share.

\--∞--

Clarke barely sleeps a wink that night. They’re leaving the next morning, but nothing seems to deter her from spending the night tossing and turning, sometimes even pacing across her room.

She half expects Bellamy to show up at her door. Then again, maybe he’s pacing in his own room and thinking the same about her.

 _Is he freaking out as much as I am_? Clarke sits up for what feels like the hundredth time that night and rubs her hands over her face, glancing at the clock on her bedside table that reads 4:32am.

One minute she's feeling immense guilt at what they did and the next she's considering storming into his room, demanding they finish what they started. She goes back and forth like this all night. It’s almost comical, how she feels like she can almost see the angel on one shoulder, the devil on the other. _Almost_ comical, because this situation is far from funny.

Clarke gives up on sleeping and turns on the dim lamp next to her bed. She reaches for her sketchbook on the floor next to her bed, already knowing what will appear on the page, whether she wants it to or not.

\--∞--

Clarke sleeps through breakfast the next morning, stays in her room as long as she can manage until Octavia comes ponding on her door around 8:30am.

“Clarke, let’s go! We’re leaving in twenty!” she calls through the door. Clarke groans, dreading the thought of having to face Bellamy at all, nevermind in front of their family. She sends a prayer to whatever may be out there that she can keep it together. 

She shuffles downstairs and out the front door with her duffle bag fifteen minutes later, her gray muscle tank matching the silver half moons under her eyes.

“Morning,” her dad greets her, taking her bag from her and packs it in the back with the others. "We missed you at breakfast, late night?"

“Something like that,” she mumbles. He frowns when he takes her in, but she immediately heads toward the car door before he can say anything further.

When Clarke pulls open the door, she’s surprised to see Octavia sitting in the middle seat already, Bellamy on her left. Octavia must register the shock on her face.

“Well, I figured you’re going to fall asleep since it’s before 10am. Might as well be against the window instead of shoulder,” she tells her with a shrug. Clarke thanks her and hops in, sparing a glance at Bellamy as she buckles her seatbelt. He looks identical to how he did a week ago, sunglasses on, headphones in, gazing out his window. Somehow, in just seven days, her entire world has shifted.

Clarke feels too on edge to sleep on the way home, despite her usual habits. She needs to talk this out, yet there’s no one she can turn to that would understand what she’s feeling right now.

 _No one but Bellamy,_ she thinks, but drowns the thought immediately. She can’t even look him in the eye right now, let alone talk to him. Given that he hasn’t said a word since they left, he probably feels the same way.

Out of nowhere, Clarke finds herself missing her mom. Maybe it’s a primal instinct to reach for your mother when you’re feeling distressed. Maybe it’s the fact that her mother isn’t a part of the life that this happened in; she’s so far removed from this that her mother feels safe. It feels like somewhere she can run to. It’s this feeling that gives her an idea.

\--∞--

Bellamy must open his mouth to speak to her at least five times while they unpack the car. Five times when he opens his mouth to say something, and nothing comes out. Five times when he shuts his mouth again, a grimace on his face.

 _Just say something to her, you moron_ , he scolds himself. _Anything. Say anything that will diffuse the situation. Just say hi, that’s all you need_.

Yet, in the end, he says nothing. They’ll have to face it eventually, whatever this is. What they did, what they are. What they _might_ be, he reminds himself. He can’t assume she feels the same way. He was the one who kissed her, maybe she just got caught up in the moment.

Bellamy lets Clarke go upstairs to her room and waits a safe five minutes before going up to his own. He flops down on his bed, truly at a loss about what to do. They started something, there’s no going back. He only hopes the things that he said to her, the desperate string of words that had finally broken free after months of being swallowed, don’t completely scare her away.

 _Tomorrow_ , he thinks as he begins to doze off. _Tomorrow, we’ll talk about his. We’ll put it all on the table, figure it out together._ Having not slept a wink the night before, he falls asleep before the sun even sets that night.

\--∞--

Clarke knocks on the door of her father’s office later that evening. Everyone opted out of sitting down to dinner, somehow exhausted from the relaxing week at the beach. She pokes her head in when she doesn't hear a response.

“Dad?” she asks, watching him stare at the computer screen with intense focus, his glasses perched on his nose.

“Hey honey, one second,” he tells her. She walks in and sits at a chair beside his desk, wringing her hands nervously to avoid biting her nails.

 _This is for the best_ , she reminds herself. _You can’t be around him right now. You can’t handle it._

Jake finishes typing something and spins around in his chair to face her, a smile on his face.

“Clarke in my office, a rare sighting,” he teases, pushing the glasses on top of his head. “What’s up?”

Clarke takes a deep breath.

“I want to visit Mom early this year. I want to spend the rest of the summer with her,” she tells him hurriedly.

His face becomes a bit more serious.

“Of course you can, honey. You know your mom and I have encouraged that for years. But, I’ve got to ask, did something happen? Did something bring this on?”

“I just - I see Bellamy and Octavia with Aurora, and I want that,” she lies, reciting a well prepared speech. Although, it isn’t truly a lie, not really. It’s just not the whole truth. Not even close.

“With her getting married, I want to feel like we’re connected again, like I’m in her life again,” she continues.

He nods, an expression of understanding on his face.

“Okay, Clarke. Well, why don’t I take a look at flights tonight and we can see-”

“I already bought one for tomorrow morning. It departs Columbia at 6:30am” she says, cutting him off. He raises an eyebrow at her, his face a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

“Is that what constitutes an emergency, the reason I gave you that credit card?” he asks, but there’s no real heat behind the reprimand.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure I could go,” she says, although she’s not really sorry at all. She needs to get out of here as soon as possible.

“Okay, and your summer jobs?”

“Already emailed them, explained the situation. There are people who can fill in, who want the extra hours.”

“You’ve got it all figured out already, don’t you? I shouldn’t be surprised,” he comments, his voice holding both admiration and the same amusement as earlier.

She smiles and kisses him on the cheek, returning upstairs to pack. When she reaches her door, she glances at Bellamy’s across the hall from hers. Clarke walks up to it, even puts her hand on the doorknob, but can't bring herself to do it.

She goes back to her room, shutting the door behind her, and packs her suitcase. She mentally prepares herself to spend the next six weeks with a mother she barely knows anymore and a soon-to-be step-father she’s never met. By the time Bellamy wakes in the morning, she’ll already be long gone.


	7. She Loves Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty Bellarke Light™, mostly focusing on Clarke sorting through her feelings for Bellamy while in DC. It should offer some insight into her past actions and relationship with her parents, as well as her turning a new leaf going forward. Hope you still enjoy anyways!

Clarke stares out the window facing the rising sun as her plane takes off. She’s listening to a playlist that only feeds her sense of angst, replaying her kiss with Bellamy over and over again on a never ending loop. It only takes her about ten minutes to fall asleep given the early hour; when she wakes, it’s to the sound of the flight attendant announcing their arrival at Reagan Washington National Airport. 

_ This is it _ , she thinks as she makes her way through the bustling terminal, dodging a man who nearly smashes into her as he runs to his gate.  _ Washington, DC for six whole weeks.  _

Thinking about spending that much time with her mom forces her to put her issues with Bellamy on the back-burner, if only for the time being. She’s anxious to spend this much time in DC, this much time away from her home.

_ Once upon a time, this was your home _ , Clarke reminds herself.  _ Maybe it can be again. Sure, not in the way Arkadia has become her home, but in a way that feels less strange than it does right now.  _

Despite everything, she really does want to know her mom. She wants to truly understand her, to forgive her once and for all. 

Clarke stops in the bathroom before heading to the terminal exit where her mother will be waiting for her, wanting to take one last look in the mirror. Irrationally, she wants to look presentable for their reunion, despite the fact that her mom has seen her at her worst countless times.  She’s sporting her white converse and black high waisted shorts, her burnt orange tank tucked into them. She even left her hair down instead of pinned in its usual half updo and put on a little makeup - mascara and concealer to cover the circles that remain under her eyes. 

_Not bad_ , she thinks. It’s far from easy for her to make an effort on these types of things before 6AM. She sighs as she gives herself one last look, running her hair through her waves as she retrieves her purse from the counter. She marches to the terminal exit as if she’s preparing for battle. Mentally, she kind of is.

The exit is more packed than usual and she looks around a little lost when she enters the throngs of people greeting their loved ones. For a small, miserable moment, Clarke’s stomach drops as she thinks her mother is late, or has even forgotten to pick her up altogether. She doesn’t have time to deliberate on that before she hears her name called through the crowd. No matter how many years go by, no matter what state their relationship is in, Abby’s voice will always be as familiar to Clarke as her own.

“Mom,” she sighs, more to herself than anything, as she pushes through the people towards Abby.

“Clarke!” Abby greets as soon as Clarke is within a few feet of her. She pulls Clarke into a tight hug so quickly that Clarke instinctually stiffens at first, the gesture unnatural to her. She quickly forces herself to relax into the hug and even returns the hug before taking a step back. If Abby senses the distance, she shows no indication of it.

“I’m so glad you decided to come early, sweetheart,” Abby tells her, a wide and genuine smile on her face.

“I am too, Mom. I’m excited to be here. I’ve been...I’ve missed you,” she tells her, truly meaning it. 

This drama with Bellamy has made her feel more isolated than ever and although she can’t exactly tell her mom what’s going on, there’s something about her presence that she’s been craving.  It’s as if she’s reaching for her childhood, for that feeling of being enveloped in love and protection before things came crashing down. It’s a dangerous practice though. Nothing can ever go back to the way it was before after it’s completely shattered. Pieces go missing and even if you manage to glue things back together, it's never really the same as it once was. 

\--∞--

Clarke drags her suitcase into a room on the second floor of her mother’s upscale townhouse in Foxhall Village. Well, it’s technically her room, but since she only occupies it about 7 days out of 365, it feels more like a guest room. Still, in her mother’s defense, it’s clear no one else has touched the room. The walls contain family photos and some polaroids of her Arkadia friends that she's hung up in recent years. 

Clarke leaves the suitcase against the wall, deciding to wait until later to commit to unpacking it in full. She goes about exploring the room the way one might examine a museum of their childhood, both happiness and bittersweet nostalgia washing over her as she picks up familiar trinkets and opens her desk to find old sketches from throughout the years. 

Eventually, she plops down on her bed ungracefully. Laying on her stomach, she pulls out her phone, preparing to explain her whereabouts. She wants to get ahead of it before the phone calls start coming in.

The only person who knows where she is aside from Jake and Aurora is Octavia. She had debated whether to tell her before she left since she was already asleep by the time Clarke had talked with her dad, but she knew Octavia would angrier with her if she had left without a word than if Clarke woke her up in the middle of the night to say goodbye.

_ Clarke popped into Octavia’s room before going downstairs to meet her dad, who was waiting to drive her to the airport. She gently shook the girl awake. _

_ “Clarke?” she asked, sitting up slowly, a bit groggy and confused. Her eyes were barely opened.  _

_ “Hey O - don’t be mad at me, but I’m heading to DC,” Clarke told her, keeping her voice quiet given Octavia’s half-conscious state. _

_ “I know Clarke, duh,” she mumbled, laying back down. _

_ “No, O - I’m leaving right now. This morning, this minute.” This got her attention. Octavia popped up again, much more alert than last time. _

_ “What!” _

_ “I know, it’s last minute. I just...I decided I want to spend more time with my mom this summer, with the wedding and everything coming up. I just want to try to work on repairing things between us,” she explained, knowing Octavia would understand.  _

_ Clarke felt a bit guilty as she hugged her goodbye. Everyone, including Octavia, would think Clarke had some breakthrough in personal growth, having finally decided to really try with her mom. Instead, at least half of her reasoning for her extended DC stay was that she was running away from something she didn’t understand, instead of staying to face it. She was a coward, and a dishonest one at that. _

_ The thought lingered in her mind as she stared out the window into the dark morning on the highway on her way to the airport. She thought about how it makes it even worse that she’s lying to Octavia about Bellamy, of all people. Her brother, who she adores more than anyone in the world. What would Octavia think about everything that happened? Would she feel protective of Bellamy? Would she hate Clarke for it? Be disgusted by her? Clarke climbs out of that particular rabbit hole, not able to bear the thought of losing Octavia in all of this.  _

Clarke types out a long text to her friends in a single group chat, not wanting to explain the situation several times over. She apologizes for leaving without any goodbyes, explains the situation with her mom although they’re all familiar with it, and tells them she already can’t wait to see them all again in time for the start of the school year. 

Responses roll in quickly, piling on top of one another in the text chain, all sad but supportive. They tell her how much they’ll miss her the rest of the summer but that they understand her decision, and can’t wait to hear all about DC once she’s back. 

She closes the message and opens her thread with Bellamy, stares at it in consideration. Five minutes later, she throws her phone across the bed in resignation. She continues to lay there with her head in her arms, hoping she’ll doze off given how early she had to wake up, but having no such luck in the end. 

The house is almost eerily silent, her mother having gone back to work for the day with the promise of being back in time for dinner. Clarke didn’t object, knowing how tired she would be and how she needed to get settled anyways. 

The house feels lonely and quiet compared to their house in Arkadia where family members cycle in and out of the house on a regular basis. In fact, she’s usually hard pressed to find a time when she has the house completely to herself. Yet, now she finds herself craving that busyness.  DC itself feels lonely and empty compared to Arkadia, despite the city being over a hundred times bigger than her town. She remembers that much from her early childhood. Angry drivers who seem to find joy in cutting each other off and people walking the streets with lifeless eyes and headphones in, unaware of their surroundings and focused only on themselves. 

Despite the horrible circumstances that led her away from DC, she’s glad she found her way to Arkadia. Clarke wonders if this is how her mother feels in her own house, living here alone, or if she’s grown used to it after so many years. Then again, people can adapt to almost anything if they truly have to, much worse things than loneliness.

\--∞--

On Saturday a few days after Clarke arrived, she sits with Abby on the patio of a Dupont Circle cafe sipping her iced coffee, chatting lightly as they people watch. It’s the first day since she arrived that Abby has the entire day off, although she’s made it home in time for dinner every night so far. 

After their conversation trails off, Clarke notices Abby fidgeting, as if nervous about something. 

“So Clarke,” she starts, her voice unsure. “Marcus offered to come over and cook dinner for us tonight.”

Clarke’s not sure what her face looks like, but something about it must seem displeased because Abby begins walking back the suggestion before Clarke can even respond.

“Not that we have to do that tonight, it’s up to you honey,” she adds hurriedly. "In fact-"

“Mom!” Clarke cuts her off, a little laugh escaping at how frazzled her mom is about her meeting Marcus. 

“Mom, that sounds great. That’s why I came, right? I want to get to know the person you’re marrying.” She makes sure she smiles as she says it, hoping it looks genuine. 

Abby sighs, presumably in relief.

“Okay, great. I’ll let him know we’re on for tonight,” she says, pulling out her phone to type out a text to him. Clarke takes a sip of her coffee and gazes out onto the street behind her black clubmaster ray bans, feeling suddenly nervous at the prospect of meeting the man. 

“So, what do you want to do today?” Abby asks, breaking her out of her anxious thoughts. “I think the National Gallery has a new exhibit,” she adds, her voice hopeful.

“Well yeah, I haven’t been in a year, of course they do” Clarke says, realizing too late how harsh it sounded. She can see the hurt flash across Abby’s face before she can school herself. Clarke apologizes immediately, frustrated at herself. 

“Well, you know you’re always welcome here,” Abby tells her, rightfully a bit resentful of the comment. “I never wanted to force you to come Clarke, I wanted to leave the choice up to you. Your dad and I wanted you to have that freedom.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Clarke mutters, unable to help herself. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Clarke sighs, realizing this conversation might go south. Still, she’s been holding these feelings in for years and knows if things are eventually going to get better, she needs to have these difficult conversations instead of feigning happiness. She wants their relationship to be more than cool politeness. She wants it to have substance. She wants her mom back.

“It means…” she trails off, gathering her thoughts. “It means, sometimes I wish you guys didn’t give me that freedom. I know it was well intended, but I was a child. It was too much responsibility, like no matter who I chose to live with or how often I visited...like no matter what choice I made, someone would always get hurt.”

Abby is silent for a moment and Clarke’s worried she’s upset her.

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” Abby says finally, genuine regret in her voice. “You never said, I...I didn’t know you felt like that all these years.”

“I should have said something earlier, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if it seems like I blame you alone for that, it’s not that. I blame dad too, it’s just...it’s easier to move past that with someone you live with.” She hopes that makes sense to her. 

“You’re right, Clarke. The two of us should have bore that responsibility so you didn’t have to.”

Clarke sighs in relief, not realizing how heavy those words felt until they were released.

“It’s okay, Mom. I want things to be different, between us. I didn’t say it to hurt you, I just wanted to be honest.” 

_ I just want to be honest with you, at least _ , Clarke thinks to herself,  _ since my dishonesty with Bellamy and with myself is too much on top of this _ . 

“I know you would never intentionally hurt me honey,” Abby says with a soft smile. “I’m glad you were honest with me, Clarke,” she adds, squeezing her hand over the table. Affection for her mother rushes through Clarke, making her happy she made the decision to come, no matter how ill-advised her motivations for coming were.

\--∞--

Clarke leaps off the couch when she hears the front door open, smoothing down her hair before she can consider why. She’s nervous to meet this man, doesn’t really know what to expect. Her first thought is that he’s comfortable enough to walk into the house without knocking, but then Clarke remembers that she’s more of a guest than he is. 

She makes her way to the foyer where she finds her mother greeting Marcus with chaste kiss, taking one of the grocery bags from him. 

“Hi,” she greets him lamely in an attempt to announce her presence, feeling a lot like an intruder. Marcus spins around quickly, taking her in.

“Clarke, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” he greets her, shaking her hand. “You’re mother’s told me so much about you, she’s so incredibly proud of you,” he adds. In other circumstances she would think the flattery was a bit much, but his voice sounds so warm and genuine that she actually believes him.

“Thank you,” she says, blushing a little. There’s an uncomfortable moment of silence where no one is sure what to say. 

“So, what’s for dinner?” Clarke tries. Marcus grabs at the question like a lifebuoy in an ocean of awkwardness, recovering quickly. He rattles off a long description of the lemon garlic chicken recipe he learned from his mother while Clarke follows them into the kitchen. 

Abby lets Clarke have a glass of chardonnay with them while Marcus begins cooking, Abby assisting when she can. Clarke sits on the island chatting with them about light topics, like her studies and Arkadia. 

Clarke watches intently as Abby and Marcus interact, dancing around each other in a familiar routine as they prep the chicken and vegetables. Clarke decides she likes Marcus pretty early on, mostly because of this side of her mother he seems to bring out. This light Abby who  _ giggles _  is foreign to Clarke, but not unwelcome.

Marcus teases Abby lightly, referencing jokes Clarke isn’t privy to, and she laughs in response. A smile lights up her face that Clarke has never seen, even in the earliest memories of her childhood. It isn’t the first time she’s had this revelation. She remembers thinking the same thing about Jake and Aurora, even as a child. Aurora made Jake light up in a way she had never witnessed with her mom. It was half the reason Clarke couldn’t bring herself to tell her dad how much she despised Bellamy.

She likes seeing her parents like this, truly  _ happy _ , not simply content at the very best of times. Yet, it also selfishly makes her a little sad in a way she can't help. Both her parents are happier, better people with  _ other  _ people. Even before the scandal, they were just never a good match. Maybe that’s why Clarke can’t hold onto the anger at her mother over that incident anymore. 

For the longest time, she blamed that singular event for the demise of her family. As she grew older, she realized their divorce was always going to happen. It was a matter of when, not if. It’s depressing to think about; she’s the combined DNA of two people who not only weren’t good for each other, but who often brought out the worst in each other. Even Bellamy and Octavia have the comfort of knowing their parents really loved each other, regardless of their tragic ending.

She pushes that thought away though, feeling instantly guilty for thinking a dead parent would be in any way preferable to two alive ones. No matter how broken it makes her feel at times, her situation is far from unique and doesn’t deserve any sympathy. 

They’re eating dinner on the back patio under strings of lights, the evening a rare and pleasant 77 degrees. Clarke’s just finished telling them a story about a little boy from her summer rec art class who dumped an entire can of paint down his shirt, Marcus and Abby chuckling lightly. She’s surprised to find herself actually having a good time at a family dinner. She wonders if dinners at home would have been as fun as this if Bellamy wasn’t there. She imagines they would have been.

“How are Bellamy and Octavia doing?” Abby asks, as if reading her mind. “Is your lab truce with Bellamy still going strong?”

Clarke had told her mother about her newfound tolerance of Bellamy last month, leaving out all of the shameful details. She can tell by Marcus’s lack of confusion that she’s filled him in on everything.

“Oh,” Clarke starts, suddenly very interested in the last two pieces of asparagus on her plate. “I think the truce is over. He’s just so annoying and cocky.” She rolls her eyes for effect and hopes the dark hides the blush she can feel creeping into her cheeks.

“Well, I’ve never met a sixteen year old boy who isn’t,” laughs Marcus. Clarke smiles and dives into an update on Octavia, hoping Bellamy doesn’t come up again for the next six weeks.

\--∞--

Clarke settles into a routine over the next few weeks. She draws and paints at home, takes afternoon runs throughout the neighborhood, and starts working on her summer reading list for her AP Lit class. She FaceTimes with her friends a few times a week, making sure to stay up to date on the latest town gossip.

Unlike during her childhood when Abby was the mayor, Abby takes off more time than usual to spend with Clarke, only working 4 days a week and arriving home for dinner every night without fail. On Abby’s days off, they go on day trips or explore the city, sometimes alone and sometimes with Marcus. Clarke feels like she’s getting to know her mom all over again. 

Most of the time, Clarke feels like she's living in a bubble that exists outside reality, making it easier to ignore her issues with Bellamy. Other times, like when she’s on the phone with her dad or Octavia, it’s impossible to do. He’s too ingrained in her life at home and even though both her dad and Octavia know that her and Bellamy weren’t on good terms when she left, it’s impossible to have a conversation where he doesn’t come up. However unintentional, however small or insignificant the mention of him, she gets a horrible pit in her stomach every time. 

She caved about two weeks after her arrival in DC, the combination of guilt and a simple longing for him becoming too much to handle. _“I’m sorry…”_ she had finally texted him one afternoon. She stared at her phone screen for nearly an hour after that, both afraid of and praying for a response.

About fifteen minutes after she sent it, she watched as the three dots popped up on the screen for a minute or so, but no text came. Twenty minutes later, the three dots appeared for a second time. Still, no response ever came. It’s been over a week now and it's still radio silence.

Feeling cooped up in the house, Clarke decides to walk to Georgetown and find a cafe to sketch in instead of staying at the house. She stumbles upon a small cafe with specialty coffee so expensive she almost turns around and goes home. She stays after she thinks about how much she doesn’t want to spend the afternoon in the empty house, gritting her teeth as she orders a $6 cold brew coffee served in a mason jar.

The cafe is tiny, only three small tables and the coffee bar. She lucks out and takes the one empty one in front of the front window, pulling out her sketchbook and pencils. She’s halfway through a sketch of Bellamy sitting in the diner booth studying, his face intense with concentration and one hand running through his curls. It’s embarrassing how many drawings of Bellamy are in her sketchbook. No matter what she sets out to draw, she always finishes with some image of him.

Her face is buried in the sketchbook as she tries to capture the tiny scars that litter his hand and forearm, apparently having memorized them at some point, when she hears a familiar but long forgotten voice. It's as if it's coming from a dream.

“Of all the gin joints, Clarke Griffin walks into this one.”

Clarke’s head pops up in surprise, her eyes growing wide as she takes in a very grown up Wells Jaha standing in front of her table. She looks him up and down as if can’t quite believe he’s real. Finally, a wide smile breaks across her face.

“That’s not how the quote goes,” she says, her tone teasing but filled with fondness.

“Apparently, you haven’t changed at all,” he observes with a chuckle. “Can I sit down?” he asks, nodding at the empty seat across from her.

“Of course,” she replies, clearing the table and putting away her sketchbook, the image of Bellamy momentarily abandoned. 

“How long has it been? More than 8 years surely,” she says a bit awkwardly, remembering why their friendship faded before she officially moved away. 

“The sins of our fathers,” he answers wrly. “It’s been a long time. Maybe we’ve been granted a second chance to not act like idiots.” 

Clarke's thankful for how diplomatic and charming Wells still is, easily brushing past what could be an uncomfortable encounter.

“Deal,” she replies quickly and can’t help but smile again. Wells was like a brother to her for so many years, much more so than Bellamy ever was or ever could be. 

Wells orders a coffee and they talk for hours, filling each other in on the last eight years of their lives. She’s pleasantly surprised to find they still get along as well as they once did, their humor still in sync. 

Wells, she learns, attends the Georgetown Preparatory School, is spending the summer interning at a law office, and is dating a girl named Sasha. She attended the same elementary school as Wells and Clarke, and Clarke thinks she remembers Sasha being a kind, introverted girl. He also tells her about his mom passing away a year after she moved to Arkadia, which Clarke remembers hearing about from Abby. 

“Well, I’ve got to head home. Marcus is coming over for dinner,” Clarke tells him around 5pm. 

“Yeah, no problem,” he says, standing up as she begins packing up her things. “No plans after dinner though, right?”

“How did you know?” she asks sarcastically, rolling her eyes playfully. She spent a solid twenty minutes complaining about her lack of socialization with anyone under the age of forty since arriving in DC.

“Sasha and I are going to a party, you should come with.”

“Hmmmm,” she replies noncommittally. 

“C’mon Clarke. It’s not often you get to spend a night living what could have been,” he teases. “You’ll see what you’re missing...or not missing,” he adds, laughing.

“Alright, fine. But you have to meet me outside, I’m not walking in alone,” she bargains.

“Deal.” His smile is warm and Clarke finds she’s actually excited.

\--∞--

Clarke’s taxi drops her off in front of a huge colonial near Cleveland Park. She expected her mom to ask more questions about the party she was heading to, but she seemed so relieved that Clarke had plans with people her age that she simply gave her money for a taxi and made her promise to call if she needed her for anything.

As she walks up the stone walkway, she hears music spilling from inside the house and voices coming from what she assumes is the backyard. As promised, Wells is waiting for her at the door, Sasha next to him.

Clarke sighs in relief, taking in Sasha’s outfit and deeming her own as appropriate attire for the occasion. She had asked Wells what she should wear but unsurprisingly, he had been no help. She finally settled on black shorts with a lacy white cropped tank paired with a classic pair of black wedges. 

“Hey Clarke,” he greets her as she approaches them. “This is my girlfriend, Sasha. Sasha, this is Clarke Griffin.”

“Hey Clarke,” Sasha says, smiling warmly at her. “I think I remember you from art class in elementary school, your drawings were always the best.” Clarke likes her already, knowing Sasha also must remember her from her family’s scandal but had chose to dig into the depths of her memory for a nicer connection.

The three of them head in and spend the next few hours playing drinking games and chatting amongst themselves and with other classmates. Unfortunately, a lot of people aren’t as graceful as Sasha once Clarke introduces herself. Some are outright rude, clearly complete assholes.

By 11:30pm, Clarke needs a break from the crowd. Instead of returning downstairs after using the bathroom, she takes her drink out to a second floor balcony that overlooks the backyard. It’s dark enough that she knows no one below her can see her sitting on the edge, feet dangling as she straddles one of the iron bars.

Only fifteen minutes have passed when Wells wanders out, having found her not so secret hiding spot with ease. 

“You know, usually people let their friends know when they’re going to disappear for an extended period of time,” he teases lightly as he sits down beside her, his own feet dangling. He pulls out a cigarette and offers her one. It surprises her that he smokes, having always been a perfectly behaved teacher’s pet as a kid. Then again, people change. She surprises herself when she accepts it, and blames it on the surreal setting and sour mood she’s found herself in.

“Soo...I should have warned you that mostly everyone here sucks,” he tells her, blowing out smoke. She laughs in response, taking a drag from her own with much less finesse.

“I mean, some of them are nice. Let’s be honest, it’s mostly me. There’s too much fuel from my name alone for them not to throw a match on it.”  _ Also _ , she thinks a little judgmentally,  _ they’re all a bunch of privileged, spoiled rich assholes _ . She almost says it out loud, but remembers that she technically still fits the bill. Wells and Sasha too. 

“Well, even family drama aside, I think you’re lucky you got out of this life. Sounds like you have a really good thing going for you in Arkadia. The family, your friends, the picturesque small town. This place is just a rat race, even for us kids. Maybe especially for us kids.” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she sighs, taking another drag. “Things are far from perfect though. Nothing is ever as good as it appears from the outside looking in.”

Wells gives her a questioning look, eyebrow raised, indicating he’s ready to listen to whatever she has to spill. For some insane reason, she decides she does want to tell Wells. Maybe it’s both because he’s completely separate from her life in Arkadia and because she still feels like she can trust him, just like when they were 5.

“You know my step-brother Bellamy I was telling you about earlier? The really annoying one?” 

He nods, waiting for her to continue. She pauses for a moment, trying to think of the best way to put it. There isn’t a good way, a delicate way, to say it though. 

“Well, I’m kind of in love with him.” Wells opens his mouth to respond but she plows ahead before he has a chance to. “I know, I know. It’s so messed up, it’s wrong. I don’t know though. It’s not like he’s ever been an actual sibling to me like Octavia has. In fact, you’re more of a brother to me than he is. I  _ grew up _ with you. He’s just the mean older...I don’t know, I don’t have a word for him.” 

Clarke takes a sip of her vodka cranberry, tensing as she waits for a response. She’s afraid she’s made a terrible mistake, that he’s going to balk at her situation. 

He simply hums in response and takes another drag, laying her worries to rest. This is what she loves about Wells. He can listen - and talk - about anything without judging. 

“It’s not so messed up,” he says finally. “I mean, it’s...unorthodox, maybe. A little unusual. Not your typical meet cute for sure.”

She laughs at that, bumping his shoulder with hers. 

“So, the real question is, does he feel the same?” he asks. 

“That’s why I’m here,” she responds with a groan. His eyes grow wide at that, as if he’s excited to hear what she means by that.

“It’s not funny,” she scolds him. 

“Spill,” he commands. So she dives into the full story, starting with their lab partner truce and ending with their kiss under the pier. 

“Damn, Clarke!” he says, laughing even harder.

“It’s not funny Wells!” she says, swatting at him. But she can’t help but laugh with him; she’s a little drunk and the situation  _ is _ ridiculous, funny or not. When their laughing dies down, the seriousness of it settles on her again, and Wells seems to notice.

“Listen, Clarke. I think you made a mistake running to DC.” 

Clarke opens her mouth to refute it, but he puts a hand up, effectively silencing her.

“What I mean is, you’re feelings for him are clearly very real. It sounds like coming to DC has been really good for your mom and you, so maybe it was a good decision overall, but you should have talked to him. The faster you run from things, the faster they always catch up with you. The more time passes, the more screwed up the situation is going to become. I don’t know what the answer is to any of this, but I’m guessing Bellamy feels as lost about it as you do. You should probably try to figure out whatever this is together.”

She leans her head on his shoulder for a moment.

“When did you get so smart, Wells?”

“Sasha beat it into me after many mistakes,” he deadpans. She laughs and sits up, taking another drag. 

“Speaking of which, I’ve got to make sure she’s not on her twentieth round of pong,” he says, untangling his legs from the railing and standing up. “Come find us when you’re ready to head out, okay?” 

She nods, taking a sip of her drink as she observes a rowdy game of slap cup unfolding on the back patio.  _ Together _ , she thinks. Wells is right, she knows he is. She just has to be brave enough to do something, to face it. 

Unsure of what she’ll even say, despite that it’s nearly midnight, she finds herself calling Bellamy’s cell. She just wants to hear his voice, wants to know that everything will be okay eventually, even if it won't be tonight. She wants to apologize for running, suddenly incredibly sick of her own immature behavior. 

“Clarke?” he answers after several rings. It’s the first time she’s heard his voice in almost a month and that’s all it takes for her heart to beat wildly. 

“Clarke, are you okay?” he says, his voice now full of concern. It’s only then she realizes she hasn’t answered him.

“Hi,” she says weakly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you, I’m fine.”

The line is quiet but she can hear his breath, knows he’s still there. It sounds a little uneven to her. 

“I’m at this party and I just...did you get my text?” she tries. 

“Clarke, I can’t do this right now,” he says, his frustration barely masked. “Listen, I’m glad you’re okay, but I’ve got to go. Be safe.” 

The line cuts off before she can even respond. She sets her phone down beside her in defeat and snubs out the cigarette, beyond ready to head home. 

\--∞--

Clarke spends the next week in usual fashion, except now she also occasionally hangs out with Wells and Sasha. She hasn’t tried to contact Bellamy again, feeling terrible about the way she handled everything. She doesn’t know what’s going to be waiting for her when she goes home next week, but she isn’t feeling optimistic about it. 

Clarke is curled on the couch in the den with ‘10 Things I Hate About You’ playing. It’s usually her go to pick-me-up movie, but she finds herself barely paying attention. Instead, she’s thinking about how she wishes Bellamy was here with her and dwelling on the fact he probably won’t give her the time of day when she returns. 

It’s after midnight and the movie is nearly finished when she hears Abby come home, having been called into the hospital for an emergency surgery during dinner. Ten minutes later, Abby joins her. 

“Hey sweetheart,” she greets her, kissing her forehead as she takes a seat at the opposite end of the couch. 

“Hey, how was the surgery?”

“Successful, thankfully,” she replies, sounding tired. “Why are you still up?”

“No reason,” Clarke lies. She tried to go to sleep hours ago, but tossed and turned until she gave up and came downstairs. Her eyes are still on the TV but she can feel her mother’s gaze on her, studying her.

“Clarke, I’m so glad you came to visit for so long this summer. I truly am, and I won’t be insulted no matter what the answer is, but I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me about why you decided to come. Like it might be more than simply wanting to spend time with me. Is everything okay?” 

Clarke sits up, takes a look at the clear concern on her mom’s face, and bursts into tears. It’s as if the stress she’s held in for weeks is physically spilling out of her in a horrible, uncontrollable way. 

“Hey, hey, c’mere honey,” her mom tells her as she pulls Clarke into her side, her voice soothing. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Clarke doesn’t answer but calms down after a few minutes, taking a deep breath and wiping the tears from her face. 

“It’s...about a boy,” she starts, deciding at that moment to tell her the situation she's stuck in, even if she can’t share all the details. 

Abby smiles knowingly. “It’s always about a boy.”

Clarke nods, swallowing thickly. 

“Well, there’s this guy, who I really like. We kissed before I came here, and part of me was running from the situation with him. I didn’t tell him I was leaving, just left without talking to him about us.”

“What’s the situation you’re running from?” Abby asks, her voice now tinged with concern. Clarke racks her brain for a way to explain things in a way that will make sense without revealing the truth. 

“Well, he’s one of my friend’s older brothers. We think she’ll be upset to hear about us...I feel like it will hurt her if I’m with him. But I’m hurting myself by protecting her, by doing the right thing.” Clarke hopes that made sense, that Abby won’t ask questions about this “friend”. 

“I see,” Abby says finally, seemingly milling over her response. 

“Sometimes Clarke, what makes you happy  _ is  _ the right choice. If you’re protecting people you love but not being true to yourself, sometimes you end up hurting the same people you're trying to shield.”

Clarke thinks about her mother’s choice to arrest her father, how she claimed she was trying to protect her family. Clarke didn’t understand how that could possibly be.

“You thought you were protecting us, didn’t you?” Clarke doesn’t need to say more than that. Her mother knows exactly what she’s referring to. 

“Clarke, I didn’t order your dad’s arrest. I made the mistake of confiding in Thelonius, thinking he would talk him out of going public when I couldn’t. I truly didn’t know about the faulty building codes, but I thought I could fix them with enough time once I did find out.”

“You never told me that. You let me hate you, let me think you ordered dad’s arrest. You let us both think that.” Clarke’s voice cracks with emotions that she’s fighting to keep tucked away.

“When Thelonius reported him, I still felt responsible. I didn’t pull the trigger but I handed him the gun. The technicalities didn’t matter to me,” Abby explains, her voice calm as if she’s trying to soothe a wound. Clarke supposes she is. 

Clarke doesn’t say anything, a bit dumbfounded by this news. A bit relieved as well. 

“My point is sweetheart,” Abby continues, “The right choice is the one made when you're honest with both yourself and others. It sounds like you should talk to this boy, and then be honest with your friend about what you decide. My biggest regret is not communicating with your father, not facing our problems long before arrest.”

Clarke lays down, resting her head in her mother's lap as Abby strokes her hair. She wishes it were that simple. She wishes all she had to do was be honest with a friend instead of destroy her family. She can’t be that honest, but her mom is right about one thing. She’s done running from Bellamy. If the right thing is staying true to herself, then she owes them both a conversation. She owes him the truth, which is actually very simple despite all the complications it's tangled in: she's in love with him.

\--∞--

When Clarke exits the terminal and makes her way to the waiting area, she barely has time to look around before Octavia is smashing into her. She wraps her in a hug so tight she can barely breathe, but Clarke doesn’t mind, having missed her just as much.

“You’re  _ never _ leaving me for so long again,” Octavia admonishes.

They make their way over to where Jake and Aurora are waiting much more patiently. Clarke hugs them both when she reaches them. They echo identical choruses of “We missed you” and “I’m so glad your back.”

Clarke sits in the back of the car as Octavia rattles on about the last few days, having kept Clarke very up to date on her entire summer while she was gone. She glances at her father, notices him smile softly at Aurora as he takes her hand. She thinks back to her mother’s confession regarding the arrest, wondering if her dad would want to know. It doesn’t matter in the end, it isn’t her story to tell.

Octavia’s mention of Bellamy brings her back into focus.

“What did you just say?” Clarke asks.

“I  _ said _ that Bellamy’s bringing Gina over for dinner tomorrow night to meet the family.” 

Clarke’s heart drops into her stomach.

“Who’s Gina?” she asks, trying to keep her voice casual. 

“Bellamy’s  _ girlfriend, _ ” Octavia tells her, wiggling her eyebrows at the world. “He met her a couple weeks after you left and apparently it’s serious enough that she’s earned the ‘girlfriend’ label and he wants to introduce her to the family. Didn’t I mention this at some point when we talked?”

“ _ Definitely _ not,” Clarke quips, actively restraining herself from yelling at Octavia, still trying to seem indifferent to the news. 

“Well, whatever. You’ll meet her tomorrow, I guess.”

“He seems really smitten,” Aurora adds, turning around from the front seat. 

Clarke smiles at her in response, breathing deeply through her nose the rest of the way home to keep her tears at bay.

\--∞--

When the four of them walk into the kitchen via the backdoor, Clarke immediately zeroes in on Bellamy as if he’s the only person or object in the room. His back is turned to them as he pours a bowl of cereal.

“Hey, Son,” Jake greets him with a clap on the back as he walks by and Bellamy finally turns around.

“Welcome back, Clarke,” he greets her, voice all too normal. As if her heart isn’t breaking. 

“Hey,” she says, smiling at him. He puts his bowl on the island and starts to eat while still standing. Octavia sits in one of the counter chairs while Aurora begins putting away groceries they picked up on the way home.

She no longer has any doubts about her feelings as she takes him in.  _ I love him _ , she thinks, trying it out in her head. 

“Is lasagna okay for dinner with Gina?” Aurora asks. 

Bellamy nods in response. Even with a mouthful of cereal, he can’t mask the smile just at the mention of the girl’s name. Any hope she had that Octavia had exaggerated is shot to hell. Still,  _ she loves him _ . She's surprised to find that the news of Gina doesn't diminish those feelings, doesn't taint them.

“Octavia told me about Gina, that’s awesome” Clarke tells him, surprised by the fact she's not entirely lying in saying so. She loves him, which means that even though she’s not the one making him smile, part of her can’t help but be happy that he's happy.

“Thanks,” he mumbles through a mouthful of cereal in an unreadable voice. She doesn’t know if it means something that he refuses to look up at her, that he keeps his eyes trained on his bowl of cereal instead.

It’s far from the news she was expecting, but she refuses to go back to the girl she was before. The girl who pushes him away, who pushes him in a  _ pool _ . The girl who runs away, hurting the people she leaves behind. She  _ loves _ him, in new, strange, and selfless way. His happiness is her happiness. For now, that will have to be enough.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, don't be mad I warned ya it was slow burn. Comments and kudos always appreciated, let me know what you thought.


	8. You Keep Her Centered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So this is probably a Sunday update instead of a Saturday one. Also, I'll be traveling for work the next few months so I may post a little less frequently, but I'll still have a new chapter up every 1-2 weeks. Hopefully the fact that this is a pretty hefty one will make up for that, enjoy!

Bellamy sits on the roof with his back resting against the wall next to his window doing nothing but thinking. Thinking about his junior year starting in a few days, and the football season too. Thinking about Gina, how she gives him butterflies in his stomach in a way the other girls in his past didn’t.

Well, except Clarke of course. With Clarke though, it wasn’t butterflies. It was a damn hurricane, the bliss twisted up in guilt and shame, in confusion. It’s not like that with Gina, it’s just...simple. It’s ordinary in a good way, in the best way.

_He met Gina when football pre-season started about two weeks after Clarke left. When he had walked downstairs into the kitchen that morning and Octavia told him Clarke had left, he could barely mask the shock on his face. He probably didn’t, but he supposes Octavia didn’t think anything of it. His surprise wouldn't strange to Octavia, but she couldn't see how he also crumbled on the inside._

_It was a horrible surprise, a confirmation of his fears, of what he suspected all along. Clarke regretted their kiss, she didn’t want him. Clarke didn't simply not want him, she ran away from him. She left the goddamn state to avoid him._

_As the days went on, he somehow molded the despair at her rejection into real anger. It was easier that way, it always had been. His muscle memory in the practice of hating her was as sharp as ever and he slipped into the old practice easily._

_Ironically, the text he eventually received from her arrived the same day he met Gina. Well, it wasn’t their first meeting, exactly. In a town like Arkadia, he already knew who she was, had chatted with her countless times in school or at the occasional party. Bellamy had never given her much consideration. Gina was a pretty girl in the class above his, a cheerleader for both the football and basketball teams. Yet, she was overshadowed by the other girls who unabashedly approached him and he usually forgot about her as quickly as she crossed his mind, which wasn't often anyways._

_Bellamy had just finished a morning practice session on the first day of the pre-season, and was feeling great from the hard workout. It was a great excuse to channel his anger at Clarke into something resembling productivity. When he began to pull out of the parking lot in his truck, he absentmindedly picked up his phone, checking his messages. When he saw Clarke’s name flash across the lock screen banner, his heart felt like a sinking stone, nerves washing through his body in an instant. He didn’t have time to dwell on the feeling though; a minute later he jolted forward in his seat as he felt his truck smash into something behind him._

_“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, slamming his head back against the seat in frustration before getting out of his car. Gina stood glaring at him, hands on her hips._

_“Seriously, Bellamy? Were you even looking?” she snapped at him._

_“Shit, Gina, I’m really sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair, still sweaty from practice. Something about his response must have surprised her because suddenly she didn’t look so angry, as if she was satisfied with the apology she didn’t expect to receive.  After that, he offered to fix up her front bumper for free at Sinclair’s the next day._

_When he got home after the incident with the car, he finally opened his phone to look at Clarke’s text in the quiet privacy of his room. He had dwelled on what it might say, even with a distraction like a fender bender and a new pretty girl on his mind._

_He stared at the words, sitting down on the floor with his back against the bed._

_“I’m sorry…” it read._

_‘I’m sorry,’ he muses, mulling over the words. Sorry for what? Sorry she didn’t feel anything for him? Sorry that kissing him sent her running over state lines? Sorry that she didn’t even have the decency to tell him she was leaving, to at least say to his face what a mistake he had been?_

_He typed out several responses, erasing all of them. Eventually he tossed his phone away, wanting it physically away from him, fearful he might cave and send something stupid and desperate. He knew deep down that there were no string of words in existence that would make either of them feel better._

_The next day, Gina hung around the garage while Bellamy worked on her car; he didn’t miss Raven’s mischievous eyebrow raise at him when Gina wasn’t looking. The rest was history._

_It turned out that beneath Gina’s quiet, calm demeanor was someone funny and confident. She was a good listener, made him laugh, and he thought she felt the same about him. The first time he kissed her, she told him she didn’t do casual like she knew he had a reputation for, and to take it or leave it. He obliged happily, and they were taking it slow on that front. He thinks he could fall for her though, with some time._

“Hey,” Clarke greets him quietly as she climbs out of her window, her voice shattering his thoughts. She sounds hesitant, nervous even. Regardless, she sits down beside him.

“Hi,” he responds, but doesn’t make any move to even glance in her direction. He keeps his gaze straight ahead where dusk is in full bloom, the falling sun casting shadows across their backyard.

“Bellamy, I’m really sorry. About the way I handled things, about how I handled us,” she says after a moment of silence, her voice a little breathless as if she had to work up the courage to say something.

 _Simple_ , Bellamy thinks again, Gina coming to mind. He’s exhausted from his anger at Clarke, he needs to let her...let the whole situation go. He takes a deep breath and sighs, mentally preparing himself for this conversation.

“I was so angry at you for leaving, I don't want to feel that way anymore,” he says, finally turning to look at her. This time it’s her that’s looking away, her eyes focused on an unknown spot on her lap.

“Bellamy, I-” she starts, but he doesn’t want to hear her say it out loud. He’s _happy_ , and those words of rejection will crush him. He’s afraid of what it will do to him to hear them.

“No, Clarke. I...I understand why you left. I wish you would have just told me before you did, would have been honest with me.” He sees something in her tense, something in her face shift, although she still isn’t looking at him. It’s so subtle that he nearly misses it. He would have if he wasn’t looking at her so intently.

“I feel like all I do is hurt people,” she says, finally looking up at him.

Bellamy wants to tell her how she’s right, wants to hold onto the anger like the shield it once was, but it’s draining from him quickly without his permission. Everything has changed now. Sometime over the last six months, his need to help carry her pain began to overshadow everything else.

She looks like she could break, and he wants to be the one to hold her together.

“Hey...that’s not true, Clarke. I know we’ve had our issues, but I need you. We need each other.”

“-as a friend,” he tacks on quickly, before she can respond. He wants her to know she doesn’t have to worry about being around him, that he’ll respect the boundaries she set.

Clarke looks doubtful at his words, looks away from him towards the sun. She bites down on her lip, as if to hold back tears.

“Hey, you want forgiveness, fine, I'll give it to you. You're forgiven, okay? But you’ve got to forgive yourself too.”

“Forgiveness is hard for us,” she murmurs.

“You're not the only one trying to forgive yourself,” he tells her, thinking about how he started this whole mess. How he was so terrible to her as a kid, how he ruined everything they built by kissing her on the beach. Always acting first and thinking later, letting his heart trample his head in every decision.

“Maybe we'll get that someday,” he adds, his voice lighter. A little more hopeful. She smiles finally, and it seems brighter than the sun in front of them. In the same moment that Bellamy considers how her smile nearly kills him, he makes a vow to never give into those old feelings. To never act so rash, so selfishly again.

“There ya go,” he laughs lightly, bumping her shoulder with his in response to her smile.

“Okay, I think we need a new truce,” she laughs. “ _But_ …” she trails off as if considering something. “Be right back!” she finishes, hopping up and climbing through her window.

She returns a minute later with a notebook and pen, popping down cross legged in front of him. She’s close enough that he gets a whiff of her perfume, but he kicks the thought to the curb. He’d rather have her in his life like this than not at all. Not at all is exactly what will happen if he gets carried away again.

“What are you doing?” he asks, laughing as she flips the notebook open to a blank page.

“Writing up a contract. The rules, or whatever. Our truce needs stricter guidelines this time.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he teases.

“So are you, that’s why this is necessary,” she quips lightly.

“Okay,” she says, after writing  _The Official Rules of the Truce_  on the top of the page. “What are the rules?”

He gives her a pointed look as he takes the notebook from her.

 _Always communicate (no running),_ he scribbles down. He tosses the notebook back on her lap as soon as he’s done.

“Okay, I deserved that,” she admits with a laugh as she reads what he wrote.

 _No irritating the other for entertainment purposes_ , she writes, throwing her own pointed look at him.

 _No lashing out when drunk_ , he writes.

 _No sleeping with the friends of the other_ , she writes. He opens his mouth to argue that one, but Clarke gives him a look that shuts him up.

 _No pushing in pools_ , he writes instead. She hesitates for a moment before she writes the next one.

 _Talk first. Give the benefit of the doubt before assuming the worst_ , she writes. She hands the notebook to him slowly. Maybe it’s because she’s referencing that awful fight about Finn at the bookstore. Maybe it’s because that’s the day _it_ happened. He knows he has to write the next one for the both of them.

 _Boundaries_ . _No crossing the line_ , he writes. Bellamy keeps his eyes on her as he hands the notebook back to her and she reads it. She doesn’t react but he knows her well enough to recognize how easily she can slip on a mask of indifference. She freezes though, her pen on the paper but unmoving as if she suddenly has writer’s block.

Bellamy takes back the notebook after a moment, the tension of the pen frozen in place suddenly too much for him. He hides the page from her view as he quickly scribbles down the next rule and Clarke gives him a suspicious look in return. Bellamy hands her the notebook when he finishes.

“No throwing pens,” she reads aloud with a laugh. The tension seemingly dissipated, she smiles as she starts writing again.

They continue writing more rules, some funny references to their previous antics, some more serious vows. Each one is a promise, both an offer and acceptance of forgiveness. When the page is full, they sign their names with mocking grandeur. Clarke rips the page out and then slips it back into the notebook for safekeeping.

“So...tell me about Gina,” Clarke says a moment later, surprising him.

“Are...are you sure?” he asks, running a hand through his hair.

“Of course. I want to hear about the girl who made you smile through a mouthful of cereal,” she says with a playful roll of her eyes.

He knows his reasons for liking Gina have nothing to do with Clarke, but he’s not sure if he’s hurt or relieved Clarke seems to be so okay with it. So he dives into their story, and his summer in general, leaving no detail out.

\--∞--

On Saturday night, the day after Clarke returns home, she’s preparing herself to meet Bellamy’s girlfriend.

 _Girlfriend_ , she thinks as she applies her mascara in front of her floor length mirror. Maybe if she says it enough, it’ll seem less surreal. Maybe it’ll hurt less.

Still, she’s determined to be on her best behavior. This is best for everyone, the best situation imaginable. Bellamy and her are on good terms (strict, written terms) and Bellamy is _happy_.

_So what if she spends too long staring at his arms?_

_So what if she can barely look at him without wanting to kiss him, without imagining the way his calloused hands ran up her thighs, grabbed her waist?_

_So what if she’s not happy like he is? She’ll get there someday. She’ll move on eventually, it’ll just take time. Just more time than it took Bellamy, that’s all…._

Clarke thinks about her mother’s advice before she left, about how being honest is the right thing to do. She understands the wisdom behind it in theory, but can’t reconcile that with her reality. Not anymore.

Clarke is pulling her shirt over her head when Octavia barges into the room without a knock and drops down on her bed.

“What do you think she’ll be like?” Octavia asks, no preamble.

“Hello to you too,” Clarke greets her sarcastically. She hoists herself up to sit on her desk across from Octavia.

“And I have no idea,” she adds in response to her question.

“It’s so weird. It’s like it just took the right girl for him to get his head on straight in the romance department. Also weird because...it’s _Bellamy_. Who would want to date that nerd,” Octavia says with a laugh, but her tone is only fond.

The doorbell saves Clarke from responding, prevents Octavia from noticing her blush. The two of them head downstairs together and Clarke reaches the bottom landing just as Bellamy is greeting Gina with a kiss. It’s Gina who notices the two of them first.

“Hey guys,” she greets, a bit shyly. Bellamy turns around as Clarke is staring at them, mouth slightly open. She schools herself as Octavia gives her a nudge forward, confused as to why she stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“Gina, these are my…” Bellamy starts as they walk over to Gina and him. He quickly looks at Clarke when he trails off, but Octavia and Gina don’t seem to notice. Clarke notices though. She’s become accustomed to being hyper aware of his every movement, every glance.

“His sisters,” Octavia finishes for him with a roll of her eyes. “A pretty girl walks into the house and you forget the English language,” she teases as she nudges him. Clarke can see how happy Octavia is for her brother, how her eyes gleam when she looks at Bellamy and Gina.

“Very funny O,” Bellamy chastises. “This is Octavia, and this is Clarke.”

Gina greets them warmly while Clarke considers how he didn’t correct Octavia’s sister label for her like he used to. She tries not to let the hurt show on her face.

\--∞--

Clarke’s focus is in and out throughout dinner. One minute she’s listening to Gina talk about her cheerleading practice while Aurora smiles at her warmly, the next she’s thinking about how the color of the walnut dining table matches Bellamy’s eyes. One minute she’s listening to her dad ask Gina if she has any brothers or sisters, the next she’s wondering what Bellamy is currently reading.

“Clarke?” Aurora asks.

Clarke’s head snaps up from her plate in surprise, clearly having been caught not paying attention.

“I’m sorry, I’m still really tired from DC. What did you say?”

“Oh, I was just asking how DC was that’s all,” Gina answers, looking a little apologetic. “Bellamy told me you were visiting your Mom there for the summer.”

 _I’m sure Bellamy didn’t tell you everything,_ she thinks.

“Oh, it was really fun. I met my mom’s fiance and hung out a lot with a childhood friend.”

“Who?” Bellamy asks quickly, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Oh, just Wells Jaha.”

“You’ve never mentioned him before,” Bellamy points out in a tone that's a bit accusatory. 

Clarke shoots a nervous glance at her father, who looks both tense and sheepish.

“Oh it’s a long story…” she trails off, but no one jumps in or tries to change the topic. Gina looks down as if she’s aware she’s intruding on a strange family moment she doesn't understand and Octavia looks just as confused. Clarke glances at Aurora, who recognized the name as well as her father.

“We didn’t keep in touch, I just happened to run into him while there,” she adds, eager to move away from the conversation.

Clarke smiles warmly at Gina, hoping it looks genuine to the girl.

“Bellamy tells me he hit your car. I’d love to hear all about that,” she says in a teasing voice. Everyone at the table chuckles and the tension around the table dissolves as Gina launches into the story that Clarke has already heard from Bellamy.

Clarke thinks she feels Bellamy’s gaze on her as she stabs one of her last green beans. When she looks up, he’s smiling warmly as Gina continues the story and Clarke knows she must have imagined it.

\--∞--

The school year is back in full swing and Clarke would be lying if she denied loving this time of year. She likes being busy, not having too much free time to dwell on things. This year she appreciates her busy schedule all the more; her feelings for Bellamy only seem to grow with their friendship. She hasn’t given up on her original prediction that they’ll fade with time, but she’s growing a little bit doubtful.

Still, she wouldn’t change anything. She would always rather have Bellamy in her life as her friend and housemate (that’s what she prefers to label them now), than not at all. He’s her sun. She didn’t mind the dark before it lit up her life but now that she’s grown accustomed to it, she knows she couldn’t survive in the shadows again.

Clarke eats lunch with her usual crew consisting of Raven, Monty, Harper, Jasper, Maya, and Monroe. Emori still hangs out with them occasionally, but her and Murphy both ditched their usual lunch groups to hang out alone somewhere else since they started seeing each other after Atom’s party. A few weeks into school when September rolled around, Octavia was initiated into the group as well. Turns out Bellamy was right to be worried about the attention Octavia would receive in high school.

Clarke spent the second Tuesday of the school year with Octavia crying in her lap as she explained how Fox’s boyfriend had made a move on her and Fox blamed Octavia for it, turning the rest of their girlfriends against her. Clarke soothed her with promises that she didn’t need those assholes in her life, how she would always have a place with Clarke.

Maybe the best part of the school year is that Finn has finally left her alone after weeks of ignoring him while she was in DC. He gives her a small smile when he sees her in the hallways, but he doesn’t stop or say anything.

Per usual, Clarke immediately hones in on Bellamy’s presence as if it's her new sixth sense. Monty is telling an embarrassing story about Harper’s first dinner with his parents when Clarke sees him walk into the cafeteria.

Bellamy strolls in like he owns the place, his letterman on despite the warm weather outside. She watches as he walks up to his own lunch table, shakes hands with a few teammates, including Miller, and gives Gina a peck on the lips as he sits down next to her.

Clarke’s heart constricts at the sight of him. She tells herself that’s why she eagerly volunteers to take point painting the homecoming float for the sophomore class, needing as many distractions as she can find.

\--∞--

Float building is just one of many festivities that take place during Arkadia’s homecoming week, football being the bread and butter of their town. Bellamy can’t help but love the week, being the quarterback and all. Sure, it’s a little stressful when it comes to the actual game on Friday night, but it’s hard not to enjoy the energy the town hums with at this time of year.

Each class gets one week to build a float for the homecoming parade based on a theme selected each year by the student council. This year is simply Decades, which Bellamy doesn’t really likes, being the history nerd he is. The junior class selected the 20s, having had the second choice after the seniors chose the 90s.

The class typically spends after school hours that week helping to build the float at someone’s house. Being on the football team, Bellamy doesn’t get to spend as much time on float building as some of his other classmates, but he still tries to spend an hour or so with them each night after practice.

They select the homecoming kings and queens from each class right before the parade Friday afternoon and those selected ride on top of the float. The parade leads from main street to the football field next to the school where the game will commence that evening. Whether you’re a fan of the parade or not, no one really complains about it since the school gives them the day off. Finally, on Saturday, they have the homecoming dance where the homecoming kings and queens are bestowed with their official crowns and given a dance.

Of course, the best parts of homecoming are the unofficial events. This includes the giant bonfire after the game Friday, where most of the school congregates in a field somewhere and drinks to celebrate their victory or drown their sorrows. Flasks are more plentiful than the sashes and crowns at the dance, which is always followed by a party at a one of the senior’s houses.

The Monday evening of homecoming week, Bellamy is walking towards his car after practice and is surprised to see Gina leaning against the door on the driver’s side. She’s still wearing spandex shorts and a tight athletic tank top from cheerleading practice. She looks _good_ , to say the least.

“Hey Quarterback,” she greets him, a warm smile on her face. Bellamy greets her with a long kiss a moment later.

“I was hoping we could grab dinner before we head to float building,” she tells him when they break apart.

“I don’t know why you guys are bothering when you don’t stand a chance against us,” he teases, his face smug. She shoves him playfully in response.

“Do you want to go to the diner so we can say hi to your mom?” she asks as they hop into his truck.

Bellamy’s not sure the exact reason, but something about that feels invasive. The diner is his childhood, strangely private for being a public restaurant. An image of Clarke looking down at him through heavily lidded eyes as he bandages her hands, working slower than necessary for the simple excuse of holding her hands, courses through him like a jolt of electricity.

“Nah, I’m in the mood for a burger,” he tells her, heading towards Grounders Burgers in the opposite direction. Bellamy tries to ignore the strange guilt that swirls in his stomach as he glances at Gina, a picture of beauty as she smiles with her face turned towards the shotgun window.

\--∞--

Clarke doesn’t think she’s laughed this hard in a long time. Not since...well probably not since the night on the roof with Bellamy after Atom’s party. But she shakes that thought from her head.

It’s Wednesday night and she’s at float building with her sophomore classmates, to include Jasper, Monty, Harper, Emori, Monroe, and Maya. Ankara is hosting this year given she has a barn perfect for storing the float about a mile from her house. Homecoming is a strange time of year, where cliques seem to be forgotten, the class bonding into a single entity that seems to evaporate as soon as the dance is over.

Still, it’s a nice feeling, even if it doesn't last. Everyone is in good spirits and Clarke’s stomach hurts from laughing at Jasper's story about Monroe tripping in the relay run in gym class.

Clarke is using the small spotlights aimed at the float to continue painting as the sun sets. She's working on the cardboard jukebox, a necessity for their 1950s style float, when a hand on her shoulder startles her.

“Sorry,” Monty apologizes when she visibly jumps. She just laughs in response, having no idea how much time has passed since she got lost in her work.

“What’s up?”

“The last of us are heading out. Want a ride?”

“Oh, I want to finish a few things first, I’ll call my Dad later.”

Monty looks amused as he takes her in, probably observing her paint stained fingers and clothing.

“What?” she asks.

“Oh nothing. Just...you know this is a homecoming float, not your portfolio for RISD, right?” he teases, crossing his arms as he takes her in.

“Ha ha,” she deadpans. “You’ll be thanking me when we kick everyone’s ass on Friday.”

“Suit yourself Clarke,” he laughs as he walks away, but her focus is back on perfecting the jukebox’s faux buttons.

Another indeterminable amount of time later, Clarke hears a car rolling down the barn’s gravel driveway in the dark, the headlights intensifying the spotlights’ illumination of the barn. She tenses at first, a little nervous by the unknown car whose headlights are shining through the barn doors.

Clarke puts her hand in front of her face to block the light as a silhouette approaches her. Her heart beats faster, goosebumps rising across the back of her neck. Then the silhouette steps closer, revealing Bellamy’s full form.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she scolds him, sighing in relief. “Will you turn off those headlights?”

“Your wish is my command, Princess,” he quips as he turns back towards the car to turn it off. She can hear, not see, the smirk she knows he’s wearing.

Clarke returns to painting but can hear him walking back towards her, the gravel crunching under his shoes. He hops up on the ledge of the float, sitting a few feet behind where she’s painting.

“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?” he asks.

“Probably because I have no idea where my phone is or what time it is, and I’m guessing our parents sent you to retrieve me,” she answers without missing a beat.

“You’re as smart as they say,” he chuckles.

“I’m almost done, give me ten minutes.”

“Sure,” he agrees, hopping off the float to take a look around. “It’s a nice effort here, but you’ve got nothing on us.”

“I’m pretty sure using spies is against the rules,” she says without losing her focus, currently painting the neon orange stripe of the jukebox.

“This is really good, Clarke,” he says, his teasing tone replaced by awe as he takes in the float.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, a little embarrassed by the compliment.

“Ah, but you did miss a spot.”

She finally turns around to face him, ready to argue. Clarke doesn’t miss anything, her perfectionist nature being the reason why she’s the only one left at the barn.

"Where?"

“Oh, just right here,” he says. Clarke sees his mischievous eyes a second too late as he paints a long stroke of blue from the center of her forehead down to the tip of her nose.

She stares at him in shock, mouth slightly opened.

“Fixed it,” Bellamy tells her, crossing his arms. His smug voice brings her back to life.

“Bellamy Blake, you’re a dead man,” she yells as she grabs the can of orange paint next to her. He runs out the doors of the barn, can of blue paint still in his hands, laughing hysterically.

“Bellamy!” she yells again as she chases him outside. She can’t hide the smile in her voice.

She wanders into the dark field next to the barn, dimly illuminated by a single spotlight on the barn's outside wall. A splash of paint hits her back and she turns around to see Bellamy looking like a kid on Christmas, happy in such a vulnerable way she rarely sees.

 _Giddy_ , she thinks.

Bellamy takes a step back, his eyes challenging, but Clarke has good aim. She spatters orange paint from her bucket point blank on his chest. One look at his face and she knows she’s now on defense.

Clarke squeals as she run from him, throwing orange paint behind her. Bellamy gets her shoulder as he catches up to her and she dumps the little bit of orange that’s left in her can on his head just as he throws her over his shoulder.

She giggles as she tries to break free but he holds her securely as he wipes some of the orange paint from his head onto hers with the hand that isn't holding her. His body is shaking with laughter and suddenly she’s very aware of him underneath her.

“Okay,” she says, still choking on laughter. “I surrender.”

She slides down his front, the moment suddenly feeling different as he releases her onto the ground. The air between them feels charged.

 _Not for him_ , Clarke thinks. Once her feet touch the ground, she doesn’t give herself time to consider the strange look on his face. She swipes the can of blue paint from him and dips her hand in it, smearing it down Bellamy’s face.

Clarke means to do it playfully, a part of this battle he started. But he still hasn’t moved and suddenly her hand is moving down his face too slowly as he stares down at her with dark eyes. Clarke hears his breath hitch when she accidentally nicks the corner of his lips before letting her hand drop.

Just when she thinks there must be actual electricity coursing between them, he visibly shakes his head, his token cocky smile emerging once more. It’s not the same one from minutes ago though, that unguarded glee.

“Alright Princess, you win this round. We’ve gotta get going.”

“You’re damn right I won” she snarks, marching ahead of him towards the barn with her head held high like a real princess might. She can hear his chuckle behind her.

After Clarke cleans up the supplies she was using, they take turns hosing off the best they can behind the barn. His truck is still going to be wet, but at least it won’t look like a smurf and an oompa loompa took a joyride together.

As Bellamy turns onto the main road, he reaches out to turn on the radio but suddenly drops his hand, as if thinking better of it. Clarke glances at him, but his face is unreadable again. He doesn’t offer an explanation and she doesn’t ask.

\--∞--

The scene on Main Street is nothing short of chaos, each class’s float lined up starting with the freshman class in the front. Each class surrounds their float and Bellamy imagines it must look like a sea of people from above. Of course, not everyone shows up for the parade, but at least two thirds of each class does. There has to be more than 200 people on the closed off street, including teachers, advisors, and town police officers there to ensure nothing gets out of hand.

Bellamy sees Gina at the senior float behind him, looking incredibly cute in a 90s grunge outfit that he can’t help but notice doesn’t match her kind face, her bubbly personality. When she catches his eye, he winks at her but then turns his attention back to his own friends.

Miller, Murphy, and Bellamy are matching in white dress shirts with their sleeves rolled up, slacks secured with suspenders, and 1920s style caps. He knows they look ridiculous, but that’s half the fun of homecoming. Less than ten minutes later, he’s climbing up on their float to ride with Ontari, having one homecoming king and queen of the junior class.

He wishes he cared more about the title, or wishes that someone who _does_ care would have won instead. Not only is it the last concern on his mind, but he’s a ball of nervous energy in anticipation for the game. The last thing he wants to be is on display. Still, he smiles like it’s the best thing in the world, the best part of his day.

On the other hand, Ontari looks genuinely pleased, clad in a flappers costume and waving like she's just won Miss America. She looks unsurprised she won, but then again, why would she be? She’s a junior cheerleading captain and lusted after by half the school. There’s no denying she’s hot, but Bellamy knows she’s more drama than she's worth.

Bellamy watches the freshman float as the parade moves down the street, trying to spot his sister but having no such luck. The freshman class chose the 1970s and he knows Octavia planned to dress in some stereotypical hippie costume, but so did most of the class. He feels bad she has to walk with her class instead of Clarke’s group of friends, but he supposes the parade really only lasts about thirty minutes. She can ditch them once it’s over.

Before he manages to find Octavia, his eyes fall on Clarke walking next to the sophomore float directly in front of him. It's as if finding her in a crowd is an instinct in a realm separate from rational thought. His breath catches so suddenly that Ontari looks over at him, a concerned look on her face. The crowd is too thick for her to deduce what Bellamy saw, and she seems to immediately shrug off his strange reaction.

 _Beautiful_ , he thinks before he can stop himself. _Breathtaking._

Clarke is dressed in classic pin-up attire, a short sleeved blouse tucked into a bright red swing skirt that ends at her knees. Her blonde waves are perfectly arranged in an updo with a red scarf tied around her head.

Bellamy can even see the details of her makeup that he’s sure is the work of Octavia. Clarke’s cherry red lips pop against her creamy cheeks. Her winged eyeliner makes her eyes pop, two perfect sapphires on her heart-shaped face.

The most beautiful part is her wide smile that breaks across her face as she throws back her head in laughter at something Harper says. If only he could hear the laugh...

As if she can physically feel the intensity of his gaze, Clarke suddenly turns around, catching his stare. Bellamy decides it would look more suspect if he tries to turn away quickly, so he doubles down and gives her a smirk, waving at her. He hopes he simply comes off as an ass teasing her instead of someone gawking at her. By the good-natured eye roll he gets before she turns away again, he thinks he's succeeded.

\--∞--

By the time the dance rolls around on Saturday evening, Bellamy is riding high. It was a landslide win for their team and Bellamy knows he killed it, most likely earning himself a spot in the Sunday paper.

He thought about the incredibly long day at the Friday night bonfire with a beer in his hand and an arm slung around Gina. Yet, if he’s being honest, the real highlight of his day was when the sophomore class unsurprisingly won the float building contest. Most of Clarke’s class had rushed up to hug her, cheering with her because they knew it was her artistry alone that won them first place.

In that moment it was like her happiness was his. Aside from Octavia, he can’t remember a moment he was just so damn _proud_ of someone. Proud as a friend of course. _Platonically_ proud. They were finally in a good place and for the first time in his life, he was feeling happy rather than simply content.

Bellamy heads downstairs, wearing a simple black and white suit with a flask in his jacket pocket. Clarke and Octavia are getting ready over at Harper’s house with the rest of the girls, which makes him a little nervous for Octavia. He’s glad Clarke took her under her wing so easily after those girls in her grade were such bitches to her, but he’s a little nervous of the fact Harper’s parents rarely spend time in their home that contains a sizable wine cellar.

“You look wonderful, honey,” his mom tells him as he flies by her and Jake sitting in the living room with the TV on.

“Thanks, I’m late though,” he mumbles as he searches the kitchen and foyer for his keys. He finally finds them on the kitchen table and heads to the living room to say goodbye.

“Alright, I’m heading out.” 

“Be-”

“Be safe, I know,” Bellamy says, cutting off his mom, though his tone is affectionate. “I’ve got to go, Gina is waiting for me.” He turns to go, but Jake calls after him. Bellamy turns around, a little frustrated because he’s _late_.

“Hey, keep an eye on the girls tonight. I don’t want any guys’ hands on them.”

Aurora swats Jake before Bellamy can even respond.

“Cut it out honey, they’re going to be fine.”

“Go have fun,” she says, turning her attention back to Bellamy, her smile bright.

Bellamy waves goodbye as Jake’s words ring in his ears. That familiar guilt swirls around his gut as the familiar memory assaults him: His hands up Clarke’s shirt, her moaning in his ear, and Jake’s name popping up on the screen of his phone.

\--∞--

“You look beautiful,” he tells Gina when he takes her in. Her brown hair falls in waves and she’s wearing a maroon dress with off-the-shoulder short sleeves.

Things with Gina were going more than well. They had decided to take it to the next level after the dance, and he found himself both nervous and excited. It wasn’t the first time for either of them, but for him, it was the first time with someone he felt something more than passing lust for.

At first he thinks he’s imagining her strange mood as he drives them to the dance. She’s quiet, but not in a comfortable way.

“You okay?” he asks her finally, when they’re about halfway to the school.

“Yeah…” she starts, but then sighs. “I don’t think tonight is right for us, for you know…”

He swallows thickly, nervous by her change in attitude. Not because having sex with her tonight of all nights is important to him, but he suspects there’s a more complicated reason for her decision.

“That’s fine, truly,” he insists. “You know I’m okay with waiting however long you want but...is there a reason? Are you upset about something?”

“No,” Gina answers too quickly. Then she sighs again, as if resignation. “That’s a lie. I’m not upset, but I’m just...if I ask you something, do you promise to be honest?”

“Of course,” Bellamy answers immediately, before he can consider whether that’s a promise he can actually keep.

“Do you, or did you... have a thing for Clarke?”

Bellamy feels like he’s going to throw up, like his heart is both in his throat and pounding in his ears.

“Of course not,” he lies, making sure his voice conveys bewilderment. Turns out it wasn’t a promise her could keep. But it isn’t his secret to tell, not his alone. It’s a secret that has greater implications than his relationship with Gina, if people were to know.

Turns out the guilt he felt about Jake is nothing on this. It’s one thing to omit the truth, it’s another to outright lie to someone you care about.

“Okay,” she responds, her voice still unsure. “It’s just, I was behind you during the parade and you had this strange look on your face. When I followed your gaze, it lead me to her.”

“Gina, that’s not-”

“Then, at the game. I was cheering on the sidelines, but every time you came off the field you were looking past me at her in the stands.”

Bellamy pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

“At the parade, I was just looking ahead at the crowd...at the hundred people in front of me. At the game, I was looking at the stands because I was looking for my family...Clarke, yes, but Octavia and my parents too. I’m sorry though, I should have been looking at you, because you’re…”

Bellamy pauses while he takes her face gently in his hands. To his relief, she doesn’t pull away.

“Gina, I’m with _you_ ,” he assures her, his voice honest. It’s the truth, even if nothing he said before it was.

\--∞--

Clarke walks into the gymnasium with the whole crew in tow. Monty, Harper, Jasper, and Maya are all coupled up, but she has Raven, Monroe, and Octavia with her too. They’ve had a couple glasses of wine at Harper’s house - enough to feel buzzed and excited but not enough to be messy.

The gym is decorated as well as it can be for a school gymnasium on a limited budget. Bulb lights criss cross the ceiling and different fabrics hang over the folded bleachers, forcing the illusion of walls. They don’t even have a live band, only some DJ who looks not much older than the rest of the high schoolers flowing into the gym.

Clarke’s wearing a navy sleeveless dress with a v-cut that dips low, showing off her cleavage in a way that isn’t _too_ much. It collects at her waist, the long skirt flowing on the bottom. She’s paired it with red lips and curled her hair in loose waves. She knows she shouldn’t, but she can’t help the anticipation she feels about Bellamy seeing her like this.

 _Bellamy’s with Gina. Happy_ , she tells herself again. It’s become like a chant these days. Still, even if she can’t help what she wants or how she feels, she can control her actions.

Her friends are all dancing together with half of the school when she sees him walk in with Gina out of the corner of her eye. It’s ridiculous really, how her body just senses his presence.

 _Probably because, right or wrong, you’ll always be looking for him. You’ll always be reaching for him_ , she thinks.

Clarke watches as Bellamy does a sweep of the floor with his eyes and is both surprised and disappointed when they don’t stop for even a moment on their group, on her. Bellamy spots Miller and Bryan standing with Murphy and Emori and heads in their direction instead.

Clarke spends the rest of her night growing increasingly depressed, despite her best efforts to continue having fun with her friends. She thinks she puts on a good face, but it’s Raven of all people who gives her a strange look a few times, as if catching onto her act. She shouldn’t be too surprised - she suspects someone who appears as tough as Raven has some experience in putting on a brave face.

 _You ruined your night because you’re upset a boy hasn’t noticed you. A boy with a girlfriend, who happens to be your step-brother. Pathetic,_ Clarke thinks, a few hours later.

In the last thirty minutes of the night, Clarke walks in to the gym from the bathroom to a slow acoustic song playing. She pauses when she walks in, noticing the couples taking the floor, wishing she didn’t have to come back inside.

_I heard about a girl_

_Buried her dolls and lost her curls_

_Painted on lipstick red_

_Grew herself up and then she'd_

_Walk into a smoke-filled room_

_Oh, no one could keep their eyes off you_

_Have a little drink or two_

_Oh, how could you be that girl I knew?_

Clarke feels tired and is coated with a thin layer of sweat from dancing all night. What was once her neatly curled hair has collapsed into her usual waves. Despite the fact she wiped under her eyes and reapplied her red lipstick in the bathroom, she knows she doesn’t look as stellar as when she walked in. In spite of her disheveled state, that’s when she notices him.

_Walk into a smoke-filled room_

_Little black dress and mama's shoes_

_Isn't it a bit too soon_

_Oh, how could you be that girl I knew?_

Bellamy’s slow dancing with Gina, but his eyes are distinctly on Clarke. His expression is so blank that for a moment she thinks he’s simply staring into space. But when she starts to walk towards the water table, his eyes follow her.

_Walk into a smoke filled room_

_Oh, I believe love will follow you_

_Isn't it a bit too soon_

_Oh, how could you be that girl I knew?_

_Take a step around the room_

_And every head keeps turning too_

_Little dove, you fight 'em back_

_Show 'em you're so much more than that_

Clarke forces herself to break their gaze when she gets to the table, filling her water cup while her cheeks burn for reasons that having nothing to do with heat in the gym. When she turns around again, Bellamy is whispering into Gina’s ear with a smile on his face. She takes her water outside, getting some much needed air.

\--∞--

The next month passes in usual fashion for Clarke, filled with studying, sketching, and hanging out with her friends. This includes the occasional party and bonfire, but she doesn’t go to nearly as many as her friends because of her focus on her studies.

Then there’s Bellamy, who’s...different. Since homecoming, he’s a bit distant. It’s not as if he’s acting angry, it’s as if they went from friends to acquaintances in public. If this was always the case, it would be enough that she might consider confronting him. What’s most confusing is that he’s totally normal again when it’s just them hanging out at the house.

Bellamy still comes out to read while she sketches on the roof, their activities always giving way to them talking with each other. They still hang out in the living room watching TV reruns and movies. When it’s just the two of them, Bellamy is her best friend. They laugh and tease each other, they talk about everything. Well, everything but why he’s acting strange.

 _But what am I supposed to even say?_ thinks Clarke. _I want you to pay more attention to me in public?_

It’s the week before Halloween weekend when shit hits the fan. On Friday night, Clarke is sitting in the stands at the sectional semi-finals game with Octavia, Raven, Monroe, Maya, and Emori. Raven ran into the school to use the bathroom before the game starts and the rest of them are chatting excitedly about the season.

Clarke’s never been one to follow Arkadia sports (or any sport) very closely. She’ll admit that she’s partly become more enthusiastic because it’s Bellamy playing, but it’s also because they’re _good_ this year. Which incidentally also probably has a lot to do with Bellamy, him being their star quarterback.

Watching Gina and the rest of the cheerleaders jump around on the track, Clarke considers how she actually _likes_ Gina. It’s not like Clarke feeling like shit is Gina’s fault...if anything Clarke is the one in the wrong. Clarke is the other woman again, at least emotionally. Still, she expected to irrationally hate her, but Gina is just so kind that it’s been hard to.

The team runs onto the field to the cheering stands as they prepare to begin the game. When they take the field, Clarke sits up straighter in alarm as she realizes Bellamy is still sitting on the bench.

“Bellamy’s not on the field,” she tells the others, clearly the first to notice. They pause their conversation and look out, their own expressions of concern mirroring hers.

“Is he _benched_?” Octavia asks in disbelief, the first to speak.

“I don’t know…” Clarke murmurs, not taking her eyes off from where he’s sitting on the bench, his back to the stands. She’s not the only one who notices; she watches as Gina sees the same thing, her face momentarily all concern before she collects herself and plasters a winning cheerleader smile on her face again.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Raven says, breathless as she slides onto the bench next to Octavia. All four of them lean over to look at her. “Bellamy’s-”

“Benched?” Clarke asks, interrupting her.

“Really?”

“Isn’t that what you were going to say?” Maya asks Raven, echoing everyone else's confusion.

“Well, I didn’t know that, but I know why if that’s the case. I was walking out of the bathroom, passing the locker room on my way out. Bellamy and Finn just fly out the locker room door nearly running into me, and Bellamy is beating on Finn. Like _really_ beating into him. Murphy and Miller had to tear him off, just as Coach Pike found them.”

“That’s doesn’t sound like Bellamy,” Octavia says, worrying her lip. She’s stating the obvious, but they’re all thinking the same thing.

“Did you hear what they were fighting about?” Monroe asks.

Raven shakes her head. “They were all fists, well beyond words by the time they burst out into the hallway. I have no idea.”

Clarke can only stare at Bellamy’s back for the rest of the game.

\--∞--

Clarke is standing at the top of the stairs that night, listening to their parents yelling at Bellamy. It feels eerily similar to the night she still remembers too well, of peeking out the bedroom door to listen as an exasperated Jake and Aurora question why Bellamy would take a bat to Jake’s car.

The only difference is that Octavia is standing with her this time. Clarke supposes another key difference is that Bellamy isn’t in hysterics this time. In fact, he’s silent as they question him, refusing to give any substantial answers to them.

“What were you thinking?” asks Aurora, her tone unusually stern. Silence hangs in the air. Clarke can’t see them, but she’d bet her life that Bellamy ran a hand through his hair.

“You got in a _fight_ with someone, Bellamy. This isn’t like you. Not to mention it’s very serious. You’re lucky you were only benched for one game and given a detention, it could have been much worse,” Jake tries.

“I _know_ that,” Bellamy finally says, clear frustration in his voice. “I’m aware of the consequences. Can I go now?”

“Can you _go_ now?” Aurora echoes in disbelief. “Bellamy, why don’t you explain to us why on Earth you punched that boy.” More silence follows.

“Fine, go to your room,” Jake concedes. “You’re grounded if that wasn’t obvious.”

Octavia and Clarke skitter back to their respective rooms when they hear Bellamy’s familiar footsteps heading towards the stairs.

\--∞--

Despite Bellamy’s unwillingness to talk to their parents about it, Clarke knows the reason for Finn and Bellamy fighting won’t stay a secret. Whatever happened, it started in the locker room in front of the entire football team.

Clarke knows part of the reason Bellamy dislikes Finn has to do with her and Raven. Still, she never would have guessed that she would be so wrapped up in the drama regarding the fight...essentially the _reason_ for the fight.

The texts and calls from her friends start coming in by Saturday afternoon, but it was Raven who had the guts to come talk to her first, and in person. Clarke could have wrote it off as Raven feeling obligated because of her involvement with Finn, but Clarke suspects at the end of the day, it’s because Raven shoots straight.

Raven sits down on the bed and Clarke follows suit. At this point, Clarke was confused as to why Raven asked if she could come talk to her, but didn’t really think anything of it.

“So, did Bellamy tell you anything about the fight?” Raven asks. Clarke is confused by the question; Raven isn’t one to trek across town for a piece of gossip.

“No, but I haven’t asked. It’s not my business, he’ll say something if he decides he wants to.”

“Right,” Raven says with a sigh. “So, apparently it is your business. I wanted to make sure someone told you so you know what you’re walking into on Monday.” Clarke’s stomach drops at the implication. Her first thought is that someone found out about her kiss with Bellamy, but that would be impossible.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“So, apparently Bellamy lost it because Finn started talking about you in the locker room. Lies, as we both know, but he was going on about how he screwed you at Atom’s party.” Raven looks away towards the window for a moment, as if embarrassed. “I can’t believe I dated him, that I didn’t see what a terrible person he was.”

Clarke shakes her head at that.

“Don’t be ridiculous Raven. Like you told _me_ , a guy being an asshole doesn’t make _you_ an idiot,” Clarke assures her.

“Well of course I’m not an idiot, I’m the smartest person in Arkadia,” Raven shoots back with a smile, all bravado again. Clarke smiles at her friend’s familiar defense mechanism and waits for her to continue.

“Bellamy called him out on it and I guess Finn doubled down and started bragging about how he was your first. Bellamy threatened him and Finn said something like ‘the ice princess is too uptight to be a good fuck’,” Raven says, looking embarrassed saying those words even though she’s only repeating someone else’s. “Anyways, that’s when Bellamy started throwing punches.”

Clarke swallows, feeling irrationally guilty that she was the reason behind Bellamy getting benched. Well, maybe not the _reason_ , but connected to it.

“Great,” Clarke sighs. “So everyone thinks I had sex with Finn and Bellamy got in trouble for it.” Raven doesn’t say anything, just lets her process that.

“Monday’s going to be _awesome_ ,” Clarke mutters sarcastically.

\--∞--

Clarke climbs out of her window an hour or so after Raven leaves on Saturday evening, having spent the rest of the day eating ice cream straight from the carton and watching a series of 90s rom coms. She expects Bellamy to be out there, reading or just listening to music like he usually is.

When Clarke finds an empty roof, her first thought is that he must be avoiding her. Who else could he possibly be avoiding on the roof? She almost goes back to her room.

 _Fuck it_ , she thinks, changing her mind at the last minute. Clarke knocks on his window, unsure of what she wants to say but sure she wants to say _something_. Bellamy opens it a moment later, sporting bed head and a confused expression. He rubs his eyes and Clarke tries not to fantasize about running her hands through his hair.

“Sorry, were you sleeping?” Clarke asks, her voice quiet.

“Yeah, I just dozed off.” He nods towards the roof and she moves out of the way so he can climb out. Bellamy doesn’t ask why she summoned him, as if he already knows where this conversation is going. Still, he waits for her to speak first.

“So Raven came over today. She told me the story cycling through the rumor mill about your fight with Finn.”

“Clarke, if you’re going to apologize-” he starts, exasperated as if he prepared to argue this point specifically.

“No, I was going to thank you.”

Bellamy gives her a surprised, curious look. He's looking at her as if her face might reveal what’s going on her head. He should know better than to try to read the ice princess though.  

“I mean, I do feel bad that you got into trouble sticking up for me, but Raven already gave me the spiel about how it isn’t my fault FInn is an asshole.” She can feel herself start to ramble and puts a stop to it. “Anyways, I just want you to know that I appreciate you having my back, that’s all.”

Bellamy smiles for the first since joining her on the roof and the sight of it sends warmth rushing through her body so quickly, so unexpectedly, she has the urge to both pull him closer and run away.

“Yeah, well Raven’s smart...and per usual, right.” Then Bellamy’s face becomes more serious. “Just so you know Clarke, I’ll always have your back. I don’t regret punching FInn, wouldn’t regret it even if I was benched for the season. No one has the right to talk about you that way.”

Clarke smiles but shifts her gaze away from him to her hands in her lap, the declaration making her feel a bit flustered.

“Besides,” he tells her, his tone lighter as he shifts his own gaze towards their backyard, “I’m pretty sure ‘have each others’ backs’ is rule #8 in the contract.”

Clarke laughs at that.

“Or maybe #9,” he continues. “I can’t remember, you come with so many rules and regulations.”

“Oh shut up,” she laughs, elbowing him. Bellamy dodges her and puts a finger up, indicating for her to wait as he climbs back into his room. When he comes out, he’s holding his homecoming king crown. Bellamy places it carefully on Clarke’s head, as if it’s a proper coronation.

“That’s better, Princess. I think it suits you better than me. Besides, your float deserved the crown far more than I did.”

Clarke juts out her chin, a mock conceited expression on her face, making Bellamy laugh. They sit in a comfortable silence for a little while longer before Bellamy goes inside to call Gina, leaving the crown with Clarke.

\--∞--

On Monday morning, Clarke feels a burning anxiety in her chest as she pushes through the front doors of the school. Whether it’s true or imaginary, she can feel her classmates’ eyes following her down the hallway, their whispers as she passes.

She knows it isn’t imaginary when Raven joins her and begins to look around with an irritated expression. Raven is chattering away about her shop class assignment as Clarke opens her locker and a couple senior guys walk by them.

“Looking good, Ice Princess,” one of them tells her as they walk by. The laughs from his friends are louder than the actual dig, and the students in the hallway look in her direction. For as mortified as Clarke feels, Raven feels every bit as angry.

“Listen, here!” Raven yells down the hallway, before Clarke can stop her. “In case this wasn’t obvious, Finn is a _liar_ , hence why I dumped his ass. Do us all a damn favor and think about that before you accuse a girl of something she didn’t do!”

The guy that said the dig looks both sheepish and a little afraid of Raven. Clarke should be embarrassed, but she can’t help but feel a bit satisfied. A moment later, the normal chatter picks up in the hallway and Raven continues talking about her shop class without missing a beat.

By lunch time, there’s new gossip spreading throughout the school. Unfortunately, it still revolves around Bellamy. Clarke hears the news through hallway chatter rather than from Bellamy himself; Gina dumped him last night.

Thankfully, everyone knows Bellamy’s defense of Clarke in his fight with Finn has nothing to do with the breakup. Well, maybe the fighting itself is suspect, but at least Clarke isn’t involved this time.  Besides, she and everyone else know Bellamy would have started the same fight had someone said about Octavia what Finn said about her.

 _Actually, they would be dead_ , Clarke thinks grimly.

Still, between the drama from the fight and the news of the break up, Bellamy looks worse for wear when she sees him in the hallway that afternoon. Clarke can see the strain on his face as he tries to keep up with his carefree persona and wonders if anyone else notices.

When Clarke joins him in the living room that night, she tells him she’s sorry about his breakup with Gina and how she knows how much he liked her. Bellamy only mutters a thanks, not in an angry tone but in one that suggests the topic isn’t open for conversation. They watch TV in silence.

\--∞--

Good news finally arrives on Friday, the day before Halloween. Clarke gets home from school that afternoon, exhausted by the events of the week and looking forward to watching something mindless on Netflix for a few hours before the game.

When she walks into the kitchen, she jumps and nearly screams.

“Well hello to you too,” Wells says, sitting at the kitchen counter like he owns the place. The smirk on his face tells her he’s pretty pleased he managed to scare her.

“What the hell are you doing here!” she asks, but she’s already going over to hug him. The two of them managed to reconnect since she last saw him in DC, texting often and squeezing in an occassional FaceTime call. Wells laughs as he hugs her back.

“Well I decided I needed to see how the other half lives down here, and what better time than halloween weekend.” Wells sees the next question on her face before it’s out of her mouth, as if no time has passed since they were playing make believe in her backyard when they were five. “I reached out to your Dad, and he thought it was a great idea. He offered me the guest room for the weekend.”

“Did he seem surprised? Did he ask about your dad?” Clarke asked. Her and Wells were pretty open about the drama between their parents since reconnecting, deciding it was for the best they rose above it since it was the reason they stopped hanging out in the first place.

“Nah, he didn’t ask about my dad but he seemed almost...relieved? I think both of them feel guilty about us growing apart after what went down, even though they didn’t purposely separate us or anything.”

Clarke just takes him in, not even trying to bite back her smile.

“Okay, next question. What are you going to be for the halloween party tomorrow night?” she asks.

Wells smirks at her again. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

\--∞--

When the scoreboard clock finally hit zero, Bellamy was ecstatic. As were the rest of his teammates, everyone in the stands, and probably everyone in the whole town. The football team had just won sectionals for the first time in _twenty_ years. In fact, his dad was on the team the last time they won, which is maybe what means the most to him.

Aurora took his face in her hands after the game and kissed his forehead, telling him “he would be so proud of you.” Bellamy didn’t have to ask which “he” she was referring to, and he swallowed down the emotions that threatened to spill over in the heat of the moment.

Bellamy laughed and shook his head as Emori ran past Bellamy to reach Murphy, immediately jumping into his arms and kissing him as a few parents shot them disapproving looks. Gina gave him a guarded smile and told him congrats when she passed him on the way to her own family.

Jake was pulling him into a hug when Bellamy finally saw Clarke, Octavia, and the rest of their group moving towards him through the crowd. Octavia squealed when she reached him, hugging him even tighter than she had when they won baseball sectionals in the spring. This was _football_. Right or wrong, this win mattered more than any other sport in the eyes of Arkadia.

Clarke pulls him into hug next, which is when Bellamy finally notices him. He remains on Clarke’s heels instead of dispersing with the rest of the group after offering their congratulations to him.

“Bellamy, this is Wells!” Clarke tells him excitedly. “He surprised me today, he’s staying for the weekend.”

“Hey man, I’ve heard a lot about you,” Wells greets him, shaking his hand, something mischievous in his eyes. Bellamy glances at Clarke as if to confirm whether or not he should read something into it but she’s already engrossed in some conversation with Aurora.

“Yeah, you too. Welcome to Arkadia,” Bellamy says finally, a little hesitant. This isn’t a welcome surprise to him, although he’s not sure why.

\--∞--

The next night, Bellamy walks into the Ontari's halloween party with Clarke, Wells, and Octavia. Wells and Clarke are dressed in a _couple_ costume as Danny and Sandy, which is pretty annoying considering Wells has a girlfriend. Octavia is dressed as Pocahontas, which Bellamy was relieved to find out meant no stomach or cleavage showing. He would have preferred a bit of a longer dress, but he’ll take what he can get.

Bellamy went with a makeshift roman gladiator costume he had just put together earlier that day. In fact, despite him not loving Wells’ presence, he was half the reason Bellamy was able to come to the party. Still being grounded, Clarke had argued Bellamy should have a one-night break in his grounding to attend, since Wells was only here for the weekend and she wanted them all to hang out together.

In the end, they agreed to let him go on the condition he help clear out the boxes in the basement to prepare for them to finish it. Of course, Bellamy would have said yes to that had his mom asked him when he _wasn’t_ grounded, but he guesses they just want to feel as if they aren't conceding too much.

Bellamy's sipping a whiskey coke and talking to Miller and Bryan about thirty minutes after he arrives when he sees Gina for the first time at the party. She looks cute as Katniss, her hair braided down the side. Mostly though, he’s disappointed he doesn’t miss her more. When he realizes that, he knows she was right to end things.

_When Gina hopped into his truck Sunday night, he started the car up. Yet, she stopped him before he could pull onto the road._

_“Bellamy, let’s just talk here,” she said, a bit hesitant. That didn’t sound good to him._

_“Yeah, okay sure,” he agrees, turning off the car again._

_“So...you got into a fist fight Friday, yet you don’t seem to want to talk about it with me. That seems weird to me.” Gina’s eyes look hopeful, as if she wants Bellamy to give her an answer that will magically put her worries to rest. He doesn’t have that._

_“I told you that Finn was being an ass.”_

_She sighs, a little frustrated. “Yeah, you did. That’s all you said, which is less than what everyone else is saying. Everyone else is saying how he said horrible things about Clarke, and you just lost it.”_

_Now he’s the one frustrated. “Is this about Clarke again, because I told you-”_

_“No, you didn’t tell me, that’s the problem,” she cuts him off. “It’s what you didn’t say. If it was as simple as defending your sister, like you would do for Octavia, you would have told me immediately. Hell, you would have vented to me about it Friday night. Instead, you kept it a secret. What you didn’t say tells me everything I need to know.” This is as fierce as he’s heard Gina speak to him since he backed into her car._

_“Gina, please-”_

_“No, Bellamy. I should have trusted my instincts. I have good instincts, and maybe you didn’t mean to lie to me when I asked you if there was something going on there. Maybe you haven’t come to terms with it yourself, but you need to. I deserve someone who wants to be with me completely.”_

_Bellamy looks away from her at his hands gripping the wheel tightly. He doesn’t want to confirm or deny what she’s just said, but he guesses his silence will be confirmation enough for her._

_“You’re ending things?” he asks finally, wanting to be sure he understands completely. Gina looks at him with sad eyes, as if she feels sorry for the both of them._

_“It’s for the best Bellamy, for both of us. I’m truly not mad I just...if you can’t see what’s going on, one of us has to.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Bellamy tells her. He doesn’t say for what, but there’s a lot of things that probably covers._

_“I know you are.” Her voice is kind again as she places a warm hand on his arm, but he doesn’t feel any kind of spark from it._

_“Bye, Bellamy.” She kisses him chastely on the cheek before she opens the door, but then pauses._

_“I hope you know me well enough to know I would never say anything about...about any of this. It’s your business, and I respect that.”_

_Bellamy smiles sadly at her, wishing he felt something for the kind, amazing girl in front of him. Wishing he felt anything worth fighting for._

_“I know that, Gina.”_

A very drunk Emori pulling his arm breaks him free from his reverie.

“Beer pong. Murphy and I against Clarke and you, let’s go!”

“Alright, alright,” Bellamy laughs, shooting Miller a look as he follows Emori to the table where Clarke is already waiting. He has to stop himself from rolling his eyes when he sees that Wells is by her side.

Given that Murphy’s pretty much playing alone, Emori not getting one shot, Bellamy and Clarke take the game easily. When Clarke lands the winning cup, she jumps excitedly into Bellamy’s arms for a hug. He has to make a real effort to keep the hug casual, to not pull her even closer. Before he can consider doing so, she’s breaking away and taunting her win over Murphy, their personal pong rivalry in full swing.

Bellamy tells Jasper he can tap in for him for the next game and takes his drink outside, needing some fresh air. He’s feeling particularly hopeless tonight. If he can date such a great girl for three months and still be in love with Clarke when it ends, what hope does he have for ever getting over her.

Bellamy hears the screen door slide open and someone come up next to him, half hoping it’s Clarke. Wells is the last person he expected to follow him out here.

“I’ve got to say, Clarke was right. This place is ten times more fun than DC, even if my drink does taste like gasoline,” Wells says, pulling out a cigarette. He offers Bellamy the pack but Bellamy shakes his head.

“I’m guessing Monty convinced you to try his moonshine,” Bellamy answers dryly. “Your girlfriend okay with you coming down here to visit another girl on Halloween weekend?” he asks before he can help himself.

Wells looks a bit taken aback by the question but recovers quickly.

“Sasha was all too happy to ship me off if it meant she got to do a group costume with her girl friends instead of being stuck with me,” Wells says with a chuckle. “Besides, she knows Clarke is like a sister to me.”

Bellamy tenses at the word, but doesn’t take the bait.

“Well, a real sister. Not like she is to you,” he says when Bellamy doesn’t answer. Bellamy turns to glare at him, his suspicions confirmed. Wells is grinning at him, and Bellamy turns away again so he doesn’t punch the guy.

“Sorry, that was a shit thing to say,” Wells says, his voice more serious now. “Clarke mentioned a certain pier while visiting. I think she just wanted to talk to someone who didn’t have any connection to you,” he explains.

Bellamy’s stomach swirls with both desire and anxiety at the word _pier._

“What exactly did she tell you?” Bellamy asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Hey, none of that,” Wells scolds him as he takes a drag off his cigarette, as if Bellamy is a five year old who asked for a cookie before dinner. Bellamy can’t help the amused smirk that slips onto his face.

“You’re not what I expected though,” Wells continues. “Clarke’s always been a nut. A lovable nut, but a nut. I’ve only been here for a day but you…,” he pauses, searching for the right words. “You keep her centered.”

Bellamy shakes his head at that, taking a sip of his drink. “You’ve got it backwards.”

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Wells says, stubbing out what’s left of his cigarette, “I hope you guys can work things out.”

“We have,” Bellamy says quickly. “We’re just friends, that whole thing is behind us.”

Wells pauses at that for a moment too long, narrowing his eyes at him as if assessing something.

“Okay, sure,” he says finally. He walks back into the house before Bellamy can ask him what the hell that means.

\--∞--

Bellamy spends the next day bringing old boxes up from the basement and into Jake’s office for safekeeping until they can sort through the old junk. He’s about three quarters of the way done when he hears someone walking down the creaking basement stairs and looks up to see Clarke.

“Hey.”

“Hey, need help?” she asks, walking over to him.

“I’m almost done, but sure. Wells go home?” he asks, lifting a box off the top of a tall column of them stacked on top of one another.

“Yeah, he just left,” she tells him as he hands her the box. Clarke’s about to bring it upstairs when she pauses.

“Hey, this one has your name on it,” she points out.

“Yeah, it’s probably like old baby stuff or whatever.”

“Don’t you want to look at the stuff inside?”

“You’re too sentimental,” he chuckles.

“You’re not sentimental _enough_ for what a history nerd you are. C’mon, let’s look,” she tells him, already ripping the tape off.

“Fine,” he sighs, moving to sit down next to her. Clarke pulls out a finger painting from his childhood first.

“Awww, baby Bellamy!” she laughs, pulling out his kindergarten picture next.

“I can’t trust you with that,” he teases, taking the photo from her. Bellamy pulls out a manilla envelope while Clarke looks through more elementary school photos.

The only thing those photos remind him of is forging his mom’s signature on the forms indicating she didn’t want to order any. The ones Clarke has now all have DRAFT printed across them, which is why they’re in a box instead of on a wall.

Bellamy opens the manila folder and pulls out the top document. He smiles when he sees that it’s his birth certificate until his eyes find where his name and parents' names are printed.

“What’s wrong?” Clarke asks, immediately noticing him tense up. Bellamy doesn’t answer her, can’t form words, so he just hands her the paper.

He watches Clarke’s face drop as she reads what he just did.

_Bellamy Shumway._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed! And yes, I was definitely inspired by Conageddon Beliza for the pong game scene :)
> 
> Here's a link to the song they played at the homecoming dance:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pRlbrg2S8NI


	9. Forgiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for being patient with the long wait. Unfortunately my job is taking up most of my time recently. I'm aiming to update again within the next two weeks. Enjoy!

“Blake!”

Bellamy whips his head in the direction of Coach Pike, who has now caught him not paying attention for the third time in one practice.

“Sorry Coach!”

Bellamy jogs down the length of the gym where he’s supposed to be shooting a three-pointer. He wishes he’s more surprised, or atleast cares more, when the ball bounces off the rim and is picked up by defense. He watches Pike shake his head out of the corner of his eye as he jogs back down the court. Once again, he really just can’t find it in him to care.

“Hey man, you doing alright?” Miller asks him as they head into the locker room fifteen minutes later, clapping his shoulder affectionately.

“Just an off day,” he mutters in response, hoping Miller will drop it.

_Is he doing alright? No, not really. He’s not really doing alright._

It’s been over two weeks since he found his birth certificate, the one that decidedly does _not_ have the name Blake anywhere on it. _His name_ , the one he identifies with. The one he carried proudly all his life, even in the hardest of moments, because he knew his father had given it to him. His father, who was a strong and good man.

_Clarke had been at a loss for words after reading it, a strange occurrence in itself. After a few long awkward seconds that seemed to stretch on for hours, Bellamy snatched the document from Clarke and shoved it back in the Manila folder._

_He just sat there staring at the box after that, probably with a dumbfounded look on his face. Eventually, although he has no idea how much time passed, Clarke’s voice tore the awful thoughts playing on a loop in his mind. He doesn’t remember what she said, only that she reached towards him next and that her touch alone was enough to make him come to his senses._

_Bellamy didn’t respond but he stood up and started folding the box back up as Clarke remained on the ground in silence._

_“Don’t tell anyone,” Bellamy instructed as he picked up the box._

_“Of course not,” Clarke murmured. She doesn’t get up when he heads up the stairs with the box, and they finish carrying the last few upstairs in silence._

To Clarke’s credit, she hasn’t brought it up at all since that day two weeks ago. She hasn’t pushed him to talk about it and he’s not even sure what he would say if she did. From that moment on, he had decided not to tell anyone or confront his mother. He’s not sure what he _would_ say, how he could even bring up something like that.

Not to mention how it might hurt Octavia to know this. He knows he has to bear this alone. Well, not completely alone. Regardless of the fact he hadn’t exactly _decided_ to tell Clarke, he now has her to bear this with him. Whatever he decides going forward, he’s not completely alone in this. Despite the space she’s allowed him, he’s surprised by how sure of this he is.

Yet, even that’s a small comfort at the moment. Bellamy dwells on it even further as he takes a much longer shower than necessary and listens to the locker room empty out until he’s standing in the showers completely alone. He leans against the shower wall, lets his head fall back and closes his eyes, trying to think through it all.

His whole life he took care of his mother and Octavia, in the back of his mind truly believing his father would be proud of him. Proud of how he stepped up so young, proud of who he is now. With the belief he was living up to his dad’s legacy, Bellamy was able to draw strength from him in the darkest of times.

 _He probably didn’t even know you weren’t his kid_ , Bellamy thinks to himself as his whole body shutters with dread, with grief.

 _He probably spent his life mistakenly loving a child who wasn’t even his. He probably wouldn’t have loved you if he’d known_ , he thinks, in spite of his best efforts not to let his mind go there.

Bellamy finally shuts the water off, the last drips from the showerhead echoing throughout the empty locker room as he makes his way out. He doesn’t want to go the diner and try to act normal as he closes up with his mother. He doesn’t want to go home and feel Clarke look at him with sad eyes, like she both understands his pain and pities him. He doesn’t want to face Octavia and look for all the differences between her face and his, all the signs he must have ignored for years.

Bellamy doesn’t want to face any of it, but he will, and he does.

\--∞--

The next day, Bellamy sits at a table in the library with his head phones over his ears as he tries to drown out the silence and get through his english paper. It’s not usually a hard subject for him. Unsurprisingly, given his fondness for reading, he actually really likes Lit.

Yet, everytime he tries to think of a sentence to write, his mind drifts elsewhere. It’s been twenty minutes and he’s still staring at the damn white blank page, the blinking cursor taunting him.

Clarke startles him when she tosses her things on the table and takes the seat across from him. Bellamy watches as she greets him but doesn’t hear what she says.

“Hey,” he answers, pulling off his headphones. “What are you doing here? You don’t have study hall now.”

“No, but then neither do you,” she answers as she pulls out her laptop. He knows she’s calling him out for choosing to spend their lunch period in the library, admittedly strange behavior for him.  

“I’ve got too much work to do,” she adds after a moment. They both know it’s a lie, that she’s simply here checking up on him. A worthy distraction, he’s too relieved that she’s here with him to call her bluff.

“Oh,” he says instead, letting his gaze fall back on his blank word document.

Clarke sighs and shuts the laptop she opened just seconds ago, apparently abandoning all pretense. Bellamy looks at her wearily over his own laptop.

“Do you want to talk about it yet? It’s been weeks...Bellamy, I’m worried about you.” The last bit comes out quieter, almost as a whisper.

Bellamy glances around but he chose the table tucked away in the corner on purpose and there’s no one in ear shot.

“I...I don’t know what to say, if I talk about it,” he answers honestly. “In a sense, it changes everything. Yet, it doesn’t if I ignore it. But I don’t know if I can, so I….I don’t know.” Bellamy runs his hand through his hair as Clarke gazes at him thoughtfully.

“Well...I guess the first question is whether you _want_ to know more.”

Bellamy raises a brow at her in response.

“I mean, we don’t know anything about that surname on the birth certificate,” Clarke elaborates. “Not even a first name. If it’s possible, do you want to find out who he is? Maybe even meet him?”

Bellamy whistles a sigh as he leans back in his chair, runs his hand over his face.

 _Would he want to meet him?_ He had been so caught up in the fact his dead father was not indeed his father that he had barely thought about the fact that his actual father might be out there somewhere. Might be, is probably, very much _alive_.

“I don’t know...maybe. I can’t imagine I could do that without coming clean to my mom about what I know, and I don’t know how to do that. I’m so mad at her, but I still…” he trails off. _He still wants to protect her_.

Clarke gives him a soft look but doesn’t ask him to elaborate. She looks at the rows of books behind him instead. Bellamy can see the exact moment when an idea pops into her head. He smiles in spite of how tense he feels.

“He might have graduated from here, right?” she asks, standing up from the table and heading towards the stacks behind him.

“Maybe. Probably, if he knew my mom in high school.”

Clarke returns a moment later, several old yearbooks piled in her arms.

“If you do want to know more, this might be the place to start,” Clarke tells him, eyeing him carefully. She remains standing, waiting for permission to sit down and open the books. To open pandora’s box.

His birth certificate had said _Bellamy Shumway_ , but there hadn’t been any father listed. Googling the last name alone had gotten him nowhere, but this...this might lead to real answers. He just needs to decide if he wants those answers.

“Okay,” he finally agrees, feeling his chest constrict as he does. “Okay, let’s look.”

There’s something about the name that had sounded familiar to him when he first read it, as if from a dream. It itched at the edges of his memory, but he still couldn’t quite place it. It must be familiar for a reason though, and his father being a graduate of Arkadia High would make the most sense.

Clarke flips open the 2002 yearbook first, the year his mother graduated, and flips to the pages of senior portraits. Bellamy does the same with 2001, but neither has any luck. He takes 2000 next and Clarke opens 1999.

“Bellamy, here,” Clarke says a few minutes later, turning the book towards him. Curiosity overcomes his fear in the moment, and he takes the book without a second thought.

 _Ethan Shumway_ reads one of the senior portraits. He stares at the photo for a long time and it’s all the confirmation he needs. While the father he had always known had dark hair and brown eyes like him, he now feels ridiculous for not questioning the lack of olive skin and freckles on either of his parents as he stares at the photo of his biological father.

Ethan Shumway has his eyes and freckles, _and_ his skin and dark hair. They’re by no means identical; Bellamy can see the differences in their features and pick out the ones he knows he inherited from his mother. Yet, he also sees the specific ways in which they look very much alike. It’s as if his father’s features are the missing puzzle pieces of his DNA that he never knew were missing. He’s an even blend of both of them.

Ethan Shumway is sporting a letterman in the senior portrait and Bellamy reads from his hobbies that he’s a three sport athlete. Those similarities aren’t lost on him either.

“Bellamy?” Clarke says finally.

“That’s - that’s definitely him,” he tells her, his voice rough as he passes the book back to her.

“He looks a lot like you,” she says, her voice filled with wonder. Bellamy only nods, unable to discern how he feels about that.

\--∞--

Bellamy goes straight to his room after practice that night, makes a beeline for his laptop. He hesitates when he opens Google, considering Clarke’s question.

_Does he want to know more?_

Bellamy slams the laptop shut, anxiety suddenly flooding through him with no warning. He doesn’t know what he wants. He sits on his bed as he contemplates in silence for a few more minutes before finally regaining the courage to open the computer again.

The empty search bar is still waiting for him. This time he carefully types out the name, pushing past his fear and hesitation. _Ethan Shumway._

In the exact moment he hits enter, a knock at his window makes him jump and slam his computer shut as a reflex. He sighs as he takes in the sight of Clarke from the other side, a smirk on her face indicating she saw how badly she started him.

As she opens the window and crawls through, Bellamy absentmindedly wonders whether it’s strange that on the rare occasions they’re in the other’s room, they only enter through the windows.

He wouldn’t feel strange going into Octavia’s room, but with Clarke he feels like they’re sneaking around, regardless of the the fact they’re not doing anything wrong. He feels like he’s getting away with something. Like someone might see right through him if they walked into the room to find them sitting together.

“Under other circumstances, I’d guess you were looking at something much more scandalous,” Clarke teases, nodding at the laptop he slammed shut and flung across the bed a moment ago.

Bellamy feels his face turn hot, only because he definitely _has_ thought of Clarke in those circumstances and it’s not something he’s proud of.

“Yeah, yeah” he laughs, brushing off the comment and leaning over to retrieve the laptop. She stands a little awkwardly, like she doesn’t know what to do with herself now that she’s let herself in.

“Here, sit down,” he offers, moving over on the bed. He doesn’t have a desk or anywhere else to sit in the room, so she climbs onto the bed next to him. They sit arm to arm with their backs against the wall as he opens the laptop back up.

Bellamy holds his breath as he scrolls down the Google results pages but slowly lets it out as he realizes there isn’t much to find. No social media, no news articles, no...nothing.

“Guess he lives off the grid, there’s not much,” he mumbles.

Clarke leans over to look at the screen and her hair tickles his chin, making his heart pound. Bellamy thinks it must be impossible she doesn’t notice, but she doesn’t give any indication that she does.

_How is it that even when my life is in shambles, she can still have this effect on me?_

He’s a bit bewildered by his own reaction. It takes every ounce of strength he has not to pull her closer against him, not to wrap his arms around her.

“Here, let me see,” she says, taking the laptop from him.

Bellamy lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as she sits upright again, taking the laptop from him. They spend the next twenty minutes clicking on various links connected to the name until they find a public record that matches both the name and approximate birth year.

“Look, and it says born in South Carolina,” Clarke points out. Bellamy eyes the page carefully.

“Most recent address is two years ago, but it’s Nashville,” he says, a little skeptical.

“But I guess you’re right, everything else matches up,” he adds a moment later. “I guess it makes sense he moved. We’d know of him if he was still around.”

Clarke nods in response and they stare at the screen for a few minutes longer.

“What do you want to do?” she asks finally. Bellamy shakes his head.

“Nothing tonight,” he replies, taking the laptop back and shutting it. “I’ll...I don’t know, I’ll think about it.”

There’s an awkward beat after that, both of them realizing there’s no reason for her to stay but neither making any move to get up or leave.

“Well, I should go study,” Clarke concedes.

“Yeah,” Bellamy nods in agreement. But as soon as she moves, he feels like he can’t bear it. He can’t be alone. More specifically, he can’t be without _her_.

“I’m just going to watch some TV if you want to hang out for a bit,” he offers, trying to keep his voice casual. Clarke pauses, seemingly hesitating, but agrees in the end.

“Yeah, okay. Anything to procrastinate, right?” she jokes as she sits back down.

Because of the way Bellamy’s TV sits in front of the head of his bed, they shift to sit against his pillows and headboard instead of the wall. The twin bed makes it impossible for them to keep their arms and legs from touching. They brush against each other with each shift as they watch one episode after another of Brooklyn 99.

Clarke’s body vibrates against him with every laugh the show draws from her. Given the amount of time he glances at her smiling out of the corner of his eye, he really has no idea what’s going on in the show. Maybe can’t pull her into his arms, but he can feel her warm against him. For now, it’s enough.

\--∞--

Clarke has always loved Thanksgiving. While most of her friends complain about having to travel miles to visit extended family they don’t even like, the Griffin-Blakes have always had a relaxing day at home. They watch the parade in the morning while they leisurely sip their coffees and eat dinner early in the evening. Beyond that, there’s nothing special about it, which also means there’s nothing stressful about it.

But that was all before Clarke and her mother had begun working on their relationship. They talk every few days, text all the time, and she even facetimes with both her mom and Marcus occasionally. She wants to spend their first holiday together, but she doesn’t want to spend it away from the rest of her family either.

In fact, Clarke is sure Octavia would throw a fit if she missed it. Besides, she truly doesn’t want to miss it regardless. Last year, it would have been a great excuse to have a few days away from Bellamy, but that couldn’t be further from what she wants now. With everything going on with him, she can’t imagine leaving him here alone.

That’s how she ends up picking apart her chicken at the dinner table a week before Thanksgiving, trying to find the courage to ask what might be an awkward question.

“Everything okay, Clarke? You’ve barely touched your food,” Aurora comments.

 _Well, it’s now or never_ , Clarke thinks.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s great. I just, I wanted to ask you guys something.”

Jake puts down his silverware as he exchanges a worried glance with Aurora, as if he’s preparing for the worst. Bellamy and Octavia look at her with their own confused expressions.

“If they want to, can Mom and Marcus come have Thanksgiving with us?”

Jake and Aurora look surprised at the question, Bellamy and Octavia too. Jake opens his mouth to respond, but Clarke barrels on ahead, determined to finish laying out the carefully constructed argument she came prepared with.

“I know it’s a little unorthodox, but I just want to spend the holiday with both of you guys, and-”

“Clarke-” Aurora tries.

“-I think it could actually be really fun. Marcus is even a great cook, and they could stay at-”

“Clarke-” Jake attempts.

“-that cute bed and breakfast in Polis or something. They would just be here for the day. What do you guys think?”

Aurora and Jake share amused smiles.

“We were going to say that of course that’s okay. We’re happy to host everyone,” Aurora says finally, the amused smile still on her face. Clarke sighs in relief.

“Okay, great,” Clarke smiles. “I’ll ask her about it tonight.”

Before she gives her attention back to her abandoned chicken, she catches Bellamy’s eye from across the table. He’s wearing a smile that matches her own, but she doesn’t know why.

\--∞--

Bellamy is both curious and a little nervous to meet Abby. He’s not sure where the nerves are coming from, aside from the fact that it’s Clarke’s mom and he wants her to like him. But when he thinks about it like that, it sounds a little too similar to wanting the approval of your girlfriend’s mother, so he pushes the thought away.

Abby and Marcus arrived at the bed and breakfast late Wednesday night so they haven’t come by the house yet. Thanksgiving has a bit of a different feel this year, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing, in Bellamy’s opinion. It’s just less relaxing than usual with everyone tidying up the house and showering hours before they usually do.

If he’s being honest with himself, in past years he would’ve been irritated to have his relaxing holiday interrupted. This year, he’ll take any distraction he can get. The thought of spending the day with the family without something to distract him would be too much for him at the moment.

Although Bellamy’s decided not to tell his mom or sister about what he found out, it becomes harder everyday to swallow it. It surprises him, just how hard it is, given the the other feelings and resentments he’s been able to carefully tuck away over the years. For whatever reason, he’s struggling to neatly compartmentalize all of it this time around.

It’s about 11am when Bellamy hears the doorbell ring downstairs. He hops off his bed, tossing his book aside and smoothing down his unruly curls in front of his mirror. Bellamy is the last to make it downstairs. By the time he does, Clarke is already hugging Abby while everyone else smiles and looks on.

“Jake, it’s good to see you,” Abby says when she breaks away from Clarke. Jake and Aurora take turns giving her a quick hug. They’re all a little awkward, a little stiff, but well intentioned.

“We’re happy to have you guys here, it feels like more of a celebration this year,” replies Aurora.

“Hi, I’m Octavia,” his sister greets Abby, holding out her hand. Bellamy would expect nothing less than the bold greeting from his sister. He catches Clarke’s eye and they share a knowing smile. Abby turns her attention to Bellamy next.

“You must be Bellamy then,” Abby says with a warm smile. He greets her and shakes her hand, feeling a little awkward. It’s a little strange that Abby hasn’t met any of them, but without Clarke to bring them together, he supposes there hasn’t been a reason to.

“Clarke tells us you’re quite the athlete,” Marcus prods him as they all head into the kitchen to put down the food Abby and Marcus brought with them.

“I don’t know about that,” Bellamy answers dismissively, a little caught off guard by the compliment. He rubs the back of his neck so he has something to do with his hand, the words _she’s talked about me_ rattling around in the back of his mind.

“Oh, _today_ is the day you’re going to give your ego a break, huh?” Clarke teases him, walking up from behind them. Marcus chuckles as he sets down the grocery bags.

\--∞--

The rest of the day goes by quickly. By noon the adults break open the wine, probably to ease the slight awkwardness. It truly isn’t bad though. In fact, everyone seems to be getting along well enough that Bellamy thinks an outsider might think it’s just two couples hanging out. He catches Clarke smiling more than usual, her usual serious expression nowhere to be found.

Bellamy finds that he likes them both, especially Marcus who makes an effort to get to know Bellamy and Octavia as much as Clarke. Bellamy thinks he’s the type of guy who’s charming and personable enough to be a good politician, but is too genuinely good to give a career like that any consideration.

It’s 4pm by the time everyone sits down for dinner and the conversation continues to flow easily as everyone digs into the food.

“-and every player on the other team is just diving at him, but Bellamy slips by them like it’s nothing,” Jake laughs, telling the story of this year’s football sectional win. The pride in his voice is evident.

“That’s just amazing,” Marcus says, taking a sip of wine. “I was never much of an athlete myself, I was always jealous of guys like you.”

Bellamy huffs a laugh, not sure of what else to say. It’s well intentioned, but it gets old, everyone telling him how talented he is on the field or court. It’s as if that’s all there is to him, or at least all there is to be proud of.

“Me too,” Aurora laughs. “These two certainly got those genes from their father, not me.”

Bellamy unconsciously tightens his grip on his fork as he tries to school his face into something neutral despite the unexpected anger that flashes through him. He can feel Clarke’s gaze on him but she’s staring back at her plate by the time he looks up.

“Well I’m sure he’d be very proud of you,” Abby says to him, her voice genuine.

Bellamy looks at his mom instead of answering Abby. He waits for any kind of emotion to flicker across her face, searches for the most subtle of indications that she feels guilt, or sadness, or _anything_ at all.

She gives nothing away on her face, as if she hasn’t been lying for almost 17 years. Bellamy swallows hard, his sudden anger so strong he feels like he could throw up. Then Aurora _smiles_ at him.

“He would be _so_ proud, honey,” she tells him, her voice as kind as ever.

His anger feels white hot. It’s enough that he forgets they’re hosting Clarke’s mom for the first time. Enough that he forgets Octavia is sitting right there.

“Would he be though?” Bellamy snaps at Aurora.

It’s like there’s no rational thought in arms reach for him, only a direct line to his mouth from the dark place he’s stored all his anger for more than a decade. His gaze remains on his mom so he can’t see the confused or uncomfortable looks everyone else must be giving him. He can only hear as the quiet settles over the room.

Aurora’s face shifts from her usual smile into something surprised.

“What-” she starts, but it’s too late. The floodgates have finally opened.

“Would he be proud, given that I’m not _actually_ his son? Unless, of course, you’re talking about my other dad. But he’s probably not proud either, because he doesn’t even know me.”

Bellamy can hear how cold his voice sounds but it’s as if he’s listening to someone else from far away. He’s never spoken to his mom like this, not in all of his life. Aurora’s face goes white but Bellamy still won’t look at anyone else around the table, keeping his gaze on her. He supposes the silence is awkward for everyone else but his anger washes away any trace of that for him. It overshadows every other emotion.

Clarke, not Aurora, is the first one to speak. The first to break through to him. Bellamy’s not sure what she even said, only that it’s her voice that brings him back to Earth.

He stands up without a word and walks out of the room. For once in his life, he lets his own feelings consume him without worrying about the destruction he left behind.

\--∞--

Bellamy doesn’t look at her when Clarke says his name, doesn’t acknowledge that she spoke. Yet she sees the subtle shift in his posture, how the rigid posture loosens a bit. She wants to follow him when he leaves the room. She wants to check on him but she knows it would look too strange.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into him…” Jake apologizes. Yet the way he trails off makes Clarke think he might be just as in the dark as the rest of them.

“I’m sorry,” Aurora apologizes, focusing her attention on Abby and Marcus. Before they can respond, Octavia speaks. Clarke feels a flash of guilt when she realizes all her attention was focused on Bellamy, the effect of his words on Octavia forgotten.

“What did he mean, Mom?” Octavia demands. She sounds as bold as ever but Clarke can hear how her voice cracks with emotion, with uncertainty, on the last word.

“Honey, we’ll talk about this later,” Aurora tells her.

Octavia’s eyes grow huge in response, seemingly bewildered. Clarke suspects she expected Aurora to tell her Bellamy was crazy, but the dismissal of Octavia’s question is only confirmation of his accusation.

In typical fashion, Octavia’s shock gives way to fierce anger. She slams her silverware on the table and storms away out of the room. The opposite to Bellamy’s icey anger, they hear her slam her bedroom door a minute later.

Partly because she wants to check on Octavia, and partly because she wants to escape the horrendously uncomfortable atmosphere in the dining room, Clarke is the next to excuse herself.

“I should go check on her…” she starts awkwardly. Jake nods at her and Clarke doesn’t stick around to see how it plays out with the four of them.

\--∞--

Clarke wakes up on Friday morning with a stomach full of dread before she’s even alert enough to remember the reason for it. Abby and Marcus left soon after dinner last night with promises of stopping by in the morning to say goodbye. They assured Aurora that her apologies weren’t necessary and thanked them for hosting as they made their way out.

Clarke knocked on Octavia’s locked door several times throughout the evening but received no answer. Part of her felt hurt; surely if Octavia would talk to anyone, it would be her. When she’s sitting in her room by herself later, Clarke remembers Octavia’s walls are not new. They’re there because they’re the same walls that have always been there when it comes to anything having to do with their earlier childhood. Only Bellamy is allowed inside of them.

Clarke also heard Aurora knocking on both Bellamy's and Octavia’s doors several times throughout the evening, but Aurora isn’t allowed inside the walls either. Not for the first time, Clarke wondered what exactly happened between the three of them so long ago. When Clarke walked down the hallway towards the bathroom late in the night, she also heard Aurora and Jake arguing in hushed tones.

She finally fell into an uneasy sleep that night, thinking about how one half of her family might be crumbling just as she got the other half of it back.

It’s nearly 10am when Clarke finally leaves her room. When she walks by Octavia’s room, she hears Aurora inside talking with her.

 _Well at least she got through to one of them_ , Clarke thinks.

She’s under no illusion that Octavia will forgive anything quickly, but it speaks volumes that she even opened the door. Clarke walks into the kitchen and pours herself a cup of coffee. The silence in the house somehow feels loud to her.

Abby and Marcus come by to say goodbye to her soon after, but Clarke doesn’t invite them inside. She spends the day like a ghost wandering an empty house, mostly trying to stay out of everyone’s way. Part of her wants to seek shelter at a friend’s house, but she doesn’t feel like she can act normal enough to avoid questioning.

She doesn’t knock on Bellamy’s door again but by mid-afternoon she finds herself on the roof, not really remembering making the decision to go out there. She tries to push aside the hurt she feels when she sees that the window is locked and the shade pulled down, but it feels personal. There’s no one else who would attempt to reach him from there.

When she tries Octavia that evening, she’s surprised when the door swings open. The girl’s eyes are bloodshot and a beat goes by before Clarke pulls her into a hug without a word, holding her tightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Clarke asks her, echoing the same words Octavia asked her months ago. It feels like it’s been ages since she and Bellamy were at each other's’ throats.

Octavia walks back towards her bed and Clarke follows her into the room, shutting the door behind her.

“I just can’t believe she would lie about something so huge. After everything, it’s just…” Octavia shakes her head in disbelief as she sits on the edge of the bed.

“So what did she say?” Clarke asks as she sits beside her, remembering she isn’t supposed to know anything about it.

“That our dad isn’t Bellamy’s biological dad. That it doesn’t change anything, that our dad was still _our_ dad. I hate that she lied, but only because she hurt Bellamy, after all he’s done for us.”

Clarke wrinkles her brow at that. _All he’s done for them?_

Octavia has a far away look on her face but Clarke asks anyways.

“What do you mean by that?”

Octavia looks at her a little wearily then, as if she didn’t mean to let it slip and only realized she did after Clarke’s question. She’s quiet for a minute before she speaks again.

“We don’t really talk about our childhood, but it was...well, it wasn’t easy. I understand it more and more the older I get, and it dawns on me just how young we were. When Jake met my mom, she was finally in a good place. She wasn’t always though. Most of our childhood, she wasn’t.”

Clarke’s heart swells with grief for the Blakes, for her sister and her...her Bellamy. For the pain they both brush aside everyday.

“I guess she was depressed, but she didn’t seem to realize we existed. She was like a ghost, not a parent. I’m not sure we...that _I_ would have survived if it wasn’t for Bellamy. He was only about six when our dad died, but he took care of me as if _he_ was the parent. As if I was _his_ responsibility, not my mom’s. Somehow he made sure I was fed, and clean, and was covering for us so we wouldn’t get taken away by social services. Most of all, he never made it seem like it was a chore. He made me feel like I was still wanted.”

“Octavia…”

“No, don’t feel bad for me, Clarke,” Octavia tells her, shaking her head at even the idea of sympathy. “I don’t talk about it because I don’t want people to feel bad for me. My point in saying this is that for everything Bellamy did for my mom, for stepping up as a kid when she couldn’t as an adult, he deserved the truth from her. He deserves better.”

Clarke nods in agreement, a bit stunned. Her heart aches for Bellamy. If it’s possible, she thinks she loves him even more.

“Have you talked to him?” Clarke asks.

“No, I knocked on his door, but nothing. I’ve never seen him like this.” They’re silent for a minute and when Clarke looks up at Octavia she can see the worry etched into her face.

“He’ll come around O.”

Octavia nods, but doesn’t seem reassured.

\----

“Bell, it’s Mom. Let’s talk honey.”

Aurora’s words are muffled from the other side of the door, but Bellamy understands them just fine. This isn’t the first time she’s come to his door since his outburst yesterday.

He’s not sure why he climbs off his bed and heads towards the door. Maybe it’s because the anger is slowly draining from him and the guilt and shame at how he handled things are creeping in. Maybe because now that it’s all out there, he figures he might as well get some answers.

Whatever the reasons, he opens the door. Aurora steps inside and shuts the door behind her as Bellamy stands against the wall near the window. He remains standing with his arms crossed defensively as Aurora sits down on the bed. She looks like she’s about to ask him to sit but thinks better of it in the end.

“You wanted to talk,” he prompts her.

“I was trying to protect you, but I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“I don’t need your protection, that much should be clear,” Bellamy snaps. His face feels flushed. Aurora shakes her head slightly, as if to herself.

“I’m under no illusion about the kind of parent I was,” she tells him. The strength and steadiness of her voice surprises Bellamy.

“Does he know about me?” Bellamy asks next, because that’s really the question that’s been eating away at him. “I found his name in a yearbook. Ethan Shumway, that’s him, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s him,” she sighs, looking towards the window for a moment before turning back towards Bellamy. “We started seeing each other before my senior year of high school. He was older by a few years. I got pregnant with you in the spring, but he had taken off for a job in Jacksonville by June.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“No, he didn’t know. I had asked him to stay before I knew I was pregnant, and he wouldn’t. When I found out about you, I didn’t tell him before he took off. After Ethan left, I grew even closer to your dad, who was one of my best friends.” Aurora pauses for a moment then. “ _Your_ dad, who knew about Ethan. _Your_ dad, who loved you and who would be devastated to think you were questioning that.”

Bellamy swallows hard. Despite the tears shining in his mother’s eyes, he refuses to succumb to his own in front of her.

“I’m sorry Bellamy. I love you so much, I thought I was protecting you.”

“I know, Mom. It’s...it’ll be okay,” he says. He’s reassuring himself as much as his mother.

Bellamy let’s her hug him before she leaves, but he doesn’t let himself melt into it. He doesn't let himself feel secure or safe in her arms.

A familiar anxiety, a childhood companion, flushes through him. It’s the kind that makes him feel like the floor might drop from beneath him and he needs to make sure he’s ready to grab onto something to keep him from falling into blackness.

\----

It’s nearly 9PM when Clarke hears a soft knock on her door. For a split second, she lets herself hope that it’s Bellamy before remembering he probably would have used the window.

“Come in,” she calls.

Her dad walks in, shutting the door behind him. Clarke shuts her sketchbook quickly, setting it aside before he can see what she was drawing.

“Hey kiddo. It’s been a crazy 24 hours, I just wanted to check in.” He sits down on the edge of her bed next to her.

“How is Bellamy?”

“He’s okay. Aurora and him talked about an hour ago. It’s a lot of heavy stuff, but we’re all going to be okay.”

Clarke believes him, if only because her dad’s voice is as soothing as it was when she was a child. He said the same thing after the divorce, and he ended up being right.

“I know we will be,” she says, forcing a small smile. He pats her leg, stands up to leave, but Clarke can’t help but ask.

“You didn’t know, did you?”

Jake sighs and sits back down in response.

“How are things okay between you guys already?” Clarke adds.

“No, I didn’t know. People hide things when they’re afraid, but everyone we love is worthy of forgiveness. Some things take time, but we always forgive those we love in the end. Forgiveness itself may be difficult, but it’s always worth it for the people we know we can’t live without.”

Bellamy immediately comes to mind, how easily they can forgive each other. How they accept each other, understand each other, _need_ each other.

Clarke nods at her dad, understanding all too well why it was so easy for her father to forgive Aurora’s lies in the blink of an eye.

“Goodnight sweetheart,” he tells her as he presses a kiss to her forehead and shuts the door behind him.

Clarke opens her sketchbook again and starts working on the crooked smile he gets when he teases her. She can’t help but smile to herself at the thought of it.

\----

It’s nearly 11pm when Bellamy climbs out of his window, dragging his duffle bag behind him. When he makes it down from the roof, he throws the bag into his truck bed and climbs into the driver's side, shutting the door as quietly as he can manage.

_He doesn’t know._

Bellamy leaves the car off as he puts the Nashville address into his GPS. Just as he turns the key, the passenger door flies open. Clarke throws her own bag between them and hops in unceremoniously. Bellamy stares at her for a moment before collecting himself.

“Clarke, what the hell are you doing?”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you do this alone,” she tells him, her voice fierce.

“Clarke, get out of the truck.”

Clarke turns to face him, jaw set and eyes hard. “No.”

“Clarke, I’m not screwing around, get out of the truck,” he tells her again, the growing frustration evident in his voice.

“The longer we sit here with the car on, the better chance our parents have of catching you,” she tells him, her voice all spoiled authority.

“Besides,” she adds, “Even if you manage to kick me out, you won’t get far since I know exactly where you’re going.”

Bellamy glares at her but she won’t budge. He hates that she’s right, that she’s clever enough to force his hand and that she knows him well enough to know exactly where he’s going.

Bellamy groans and throws his head back against the seat, but concedes a moment later, throwing the truck into reverse. He thinks he can see Clarke’s lips twitch as they fight against breaking into a smirk. A moment later, they pull out of the driveway and into the night.


	10. Good Little Knights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday everyone. Sorry for the long wait again, but you know the excuse by now...work ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯. It's a long one and there's a lot going on, so hopefully that makes up for it. I prefer to post longer chapters less often so when you get them you actually get a lot to read, but let me know if you guys would prefer me updating with shorter chapters more often and I can do so.

Clarke stares out the window of the passenger side into the dark endless fields they pass as they make their way down the interstate in Bellamy’s old truck. They have the highway mostly to themselves, catching only the occasional flash of headlights as they barrel forward through the state and eventually into Tennessee.

The ride has been a quiet one, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable between the two of them. They turned the radio off when they got sick of trying to find a new station every time they left and entered a new area. Bellamy doesn’t seem angry she’s there, just lost in his own thoughts. Clarke doesn’t want to interrupt those thoughts, wants to leave him alone, but it’s nearly 2am and he can’t drive all night. Making sure he doesn’t do anything stupid is the whole reason she decided to tag along.

“We should probably stop soon. You need to rest,” Clarke tries. The intensity that he’s been gripping the steering wheel with for the last three hours has Clarke worried about him.

Bellamy looks like he’s going to argue with her, insist that they keep driving, but his face softens when he glances at her. She doesn’t know what he sees, but whatever it is, he nods in agreement. Fifteen minutes later, he pulls into the parking lot of a small motel.

The bell over the door dings as they step into the small lobby, which is really just a single room. Clarke squints as she follows Bellamy in, the lights harsh on her eyes after hours in the dark car. Clarke looks around as Bellamy talks to the older man working the desk, poking around at a few pamphlets and magazines. The place is certainly old and small, but from what Clarke can see it’s clean and well-maintained.

“Hey, ready?” Bellamy asks, suddenly behind her. She nods and they make their way back outside to grab their bags from the truck. Clarke can see the tension in his body as he unlocks the door to their room. For what feels like the hundredth time, she feels a pang in her chest as if she can physically feel his grief. She only wishes she could lessen it, even by the smallest amount.

Bellamy stops short after taking only a few steps into the room, causing Clarke to nearly run into him. She’s confused as to why he stopped until she follows his gaze to the singular bed in the middle of the room.

“Shit, I didn’t think to ask for a room with two beds...” Bellamy starts awkwardly. He rubs his eyes in exhaustion, making it clear this is the last thing he wants to deal with. Clarke’s quiet for a minute before clearing her throat.

“It’s fine, it’s probably all they have here,” she says. There’s a lot of things going through her head right now. The first, loudest thought is that she’ll take any excuse she can to crawl into the same bed as him. She tells herself that the thought that matters the most is that she has to prove to herself she’s not so affected by him that she can’t handle this.  

“It’s only for a night,” she adds when he doesn’t say anything. Bellamy finally nods, throwing his bag on a spare chair and heading into the bathroom.

\--∞--

Despite the late hour, Clarke can’t seem to relax enough to fall asleep. It’s been thirty minutes since they constructed a pillow wall between them and turned off the lights, and she’s trying her hardest not to toss and turn.

Still, she knows that Bellamy’s not doing much better. She can tell from his stillness, by the way his breathing has yet to steady, that he’s as awake as her.

“I can hear you thinking,” she murmurs finally.

“Pot calling kettle,” he replies softly, but without any grogginess in his voice.

“What are you going to say to him? If we find him.”

Bellamy sighs and for a moment she thinks he isn’t going to answer her.

“Honestly, I don’t even know. I haven’t thought any of this through.”

“Well you’ve got me for that,” she teases, her voice light. Clarke expects him to quip back at her, but his voice is serious when he answers.

“I’m glad you are here, Clarke.”

She can’t handle the way his voice sounds wrapped around her name, not when he’s lying beside her in the dark, in the same bed.

“We should probably call my dad and Aurora,” she says, changing the subject. Without giving it much thought, she decides at that very moment never to use the phrase _our parents_ again. Not with him.

“No.” Bellamy’s voice is hard, closed off.

He doesn’t offer an explanation, but his tone is enough of a reason not to argue with him. It makes Clarke uneasy, the fact that their family might be worried about them. But it was her choice to come along. It was her choice to ensure he didn’t make this trip alone, so she has to respect his own choice now.

\--∞--

They had set an alarm for 8am but despite his restless sleep, Bellamy wakes up with the sun, forever a morning person. For the smallest moment, he forgets where he is. It all comes crashing back to him soon enough though.

He glances to his side and sees Clarke in the shadows, the rising sun breaking through the cracks in the blinds behind her. Clarke has managed to drape her arm over the pillow wall between them, as if hugging it. He shifts onto his side to face her as carefully as he can manage.

The hand flung over the pillows is only inches away from his own, but there’s a wall much stronger than the one made of pillows between them that keeps him from reaching for her. He almost laughs at how symbolic it is, in the worst way possible. She’s so close, yet as untouchable as always. As untouchable as she’ll always be to him.

In the early morning hours, in those groggy moments when your dreams and daydreams blend effortlessly, he lets himself pretend that she’s his. He imagines they’re in _their_ bed, a bed christened many times over. He imagines she’s wrapped around him instead of the pillows. He imagines they’re just Bellamy and Clarke, and there’s nothing complicated about it.

The waves around her face are bed head messy, but he imagines his hands are the reason for it, that he spent the night with his fingers tangled in it. Her face, always determined or stubborn is a picture of peace. Her face is how he wants to feel someday.

He imagines what her face must look like when his lips are to her neck, when he’s settled between her legs. How her lips must part, how her eyes must close as she’s lost in the pleasure. He imagines she might open her eyes now and gaze at him with a knowing smile, the previous night a secret world only the two of them are allowed entrance to.

His heart is a sinking stone as the grogginess fades and the fantasy slips away with it. It becomes too hard to hold onto impossible dreams with the sun in the sky. He climbs out of bed slowly, careful not to disturb her, and tucks away the quiet dreams that have no place in his life. The ones he can’t seem to let go of once and for all.

\--∞--

They’re back in the truck by 8:30am but it might as well be 4:30am for how awake Clarke feels. Even the quick shower didn’t do much to wake her up. She sighs once she climbs in, immediately leaning her head against the window and closing her eyes.

“Hey, none of that,” she hears Bellamy scold her, but it isn’t enough to make her pry open her eyes.

“Coffee,” she demands instead, eyes still closed.

“If my navigator would wake up, maybe we could find some.”

Clarke finally opens her eyes then, the promise of finding coffee in the next ten minutes motivation enough. When she does, Bellamy is watching her with a soft smile that makes her stomach flip.

“There she is,” he laughs. “Here, I bought an aux cord from the lobby so we’ll actually have something to listen to,” he adds, passing her the cord. The thought of getting to play shotgun DJ wakes her up a little more. Just a little, though.

She scowls, but swipes the cord from him and plugs her iPhone in.

“Coffee,” she demands again.

Bellamy laughs as he puts his sunglasses on and throws the truck into reverse, stretching an arm over the back of her seat as he looks behind them. Something about the smoothness of the motion makes her flush as she pretends Spotify has her full attention.

Fifteen minutes later, Clarke does has a coffee in her hand and the world already feels like a better place. Bellamy seems to be in a much better place than he was last night, although she doesn’t think it’s the coffee that did it for him. Sure, he still seems tense and nervous, but she catches him smiling a few times and they make idle conversation when they pass something that catches their eye.

Clarke browses spotify for a good road trip playlist, eventually pressing shuffle on one and hoping for the best. When she hears the familiar melody, she turns up the volume as Bellamy smirks at her.

_I don't mind you comin' here_

_And wastin' all my time_

_'Cause when you're standin', oh so near_

_I kinda lose my mind_

Clarke smiles and starts singing along as Bellamy taps the beat on the steering wheel. When he looks over to her, she lets her rendition become more dramatic as she dances to the beat and sings even louder.

“Griffin, you’re a lot of things, but a good singer isn’t one of them,” Bellamy teases.

“I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about.” Clarke cranks the volume up as she sings the next verse even louder.

_I guess, you're just what I needed_

_I needed someone to feed_

_I guess, you're just what I needed_

_I needed someone to bleed_

Bellamy shakes his head at her but can’t seem to rein in his smile. He finally gives in and starts scream-singing the lyrics with Clarke. As the song ends, they’re both in fits of laughter. By the time they calm down, _More Than a Feeling_ starts playing and they repeat the scene all over again.

Thirty minutes into their own rendition of carpool karaoke, they turn down the volume as they pull into a McDonald’s drive thru. It gives Clarke a minute to catch her breath. A few minutes later, she watches Bellamy out of the corner of her eye as he tries to eat his Egg McMuffin while driving, taking small bites of her own.

In the familiar quiet that comes after a long laugh, when her stomach and mouth still hurt from laughing and smiling, she remembers where they’re going. How this isn’t really a happy trip...or at least they aren’t sure it’s going to end like one.

Clarke watches as he ungracefully drops a piece of the sandwich and swears to himself, and it’s in that small moment when her heart swells for him. It’s in that insignificant moment when she’s reminded how much she loves him, even more so after learning of everything he’s gone through.

“What?” he asks innocently, catching her in the act.

For a moment, she considers brushing it off, telling him he has a crumb on his mouth. She doesn’t though, in the end.

“You never told me. About how it used to be with your mom.”

Clarke assesses him as he processes her words. He tenses, his eyes steadfast on the road in front of them.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean you were obligated to tell me or anything,” she adds, her nerves making her ramble a bit. “I just...it’s a lot to carry alone. You shouldn’t have had to, and you shouldn't have to now.”

“I never told _anyone_ , not just you,” he finally answers, his voice quiet and cautious. “It doesn’t matter anymore, and O shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Of course it matters. What you’ve gone through matters,” she insists, a bit disbelieving at how easily he dismisses this part of him.

“ _You_ matter,” she adds quietly, but her voice is as forceful just the same. Clarke’s glad his eyes are still on the road. She’s sure if he looked at her, the secret she’s been guarding for months would be as clear as day on her face.

“I don’t want anyone to see me differently, to pity me,” Bellamy confesses. 

Clarke remembers Octavia’s words, thinks how his mimic hers exactly. The stubbornness the two of them possess, it’s both a strength and a fault.

“Especially you, Clarke,” he adds, finally looking over at her.

“I don’t pity you. I respect you, Bellamy. For who you are, which includes the things that made you who you are.”

He wears a tight lipped smile as he turns back to the road, his face flushing as if he’s not sure what to make of the compliment.

“Clarke?” he asks after a moment.

Before she can answer, the navigation system’s voice interrupts the song and their conversation, commanding that they take the next exit towards Nashville.

“Yeah?” she asks once the song comes back on. Bellamy shakes his head slightly, as if to himself. He doesn’t give her anymore of an answer than that, shifting his attention to pulling over into the right lane.

\--∞--

Bellamy follows the GPS directions to the address they found online, eventually pulling up to a dilapidated apartment building a little before noon. His stomach twists as he takes in their surroundings. The houses and buildings are worn out, the cars that line the street just the same. People walk down broken sidewalks next to unkempt lawns, eyeing his truck suspiciously.

He tries to remember that he grew up on the wrong side of the tracks too. Still, this poverty feels sharper to him than the small town poverty he’s familiar with. He feels vulnerable in the truck, suddenly regrets bringing Clarke into this with him. But when he glances at her, she doesn’t look afraid or judgmental. She’s steady, like always.

“Are you sure about this?” Clarke asks. Bellamy can feel her assessing him as he stares out the windshield at the building in front of him.

“We came all this way,” he tells her, but his voice is unsure. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

“That doesn’t matter, not if you don’t want to go.”

Bellamy taps on the the steering wheel absentmindedly, thinking it through. A few minutes later, he unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out of the truck.

“Stay here,” he commands before shutting the door. Still, he’s unsurprised when he hears a door shut behind him a moment later as he approaches the building. He can hear Clarke’s footsteps behind him as he walks up to the door marked Apartment 1B.

Bellamy holds his breath after he knocks three times, waits to hear someone on the other side or the door knob turn. Waits to hear anything at all. He sighs before he knocks a second time, and then a third time when he still gets no answer.

“Guess he’s not home…” he mutters.

At that moment, a neighbor opens her door instead.

“Who you looking for, honey?” she asks, her voice croaking and fingers holding a freshly lit cigarette. Bellamy stares at her dumbly for a moment.

“Ethan Shumway - does he live here?” Clarke asks from beside him.

“Who’s asking?” the woman huffs.

“His son,” Bellamy snaps at her, without missing a beat. The woman considers him for a moment, but must see the resemblance.

“You just missed him. He usually works Saturdays, you should try tomorrow.” She doesn’t give them a chance to answer before she slams the door shut.

At the ridiculousness of the situation, Bellamy suddenly can’t help but laugh in disbelief.

“Well, I guess that’s that for now,” he deadpans as he looks at Clarke. It pulls a smile out of her and she lets out her own breathy laugh.

“We could try again tomorrow morning,” she suggests as they walk back to the truck. “Besides, I’ve never seen Nashville.”

Bellamy smiles at her as he slides his sunglasses back on and starts up the truck. “Then Nashville we’ll see.”

\--∞--

Bellamy pulls into the parking lot of another motel Clarke found that won’t ID them or cost them too much money. Still, it’s not too far a walk from downtown and looks safe enough. Duffle bag on her shoulder, Clarke slides her sunglasses on top of her head as Bellamy opens the door to the room.

She sets her bag down on the chair as she takes in the room. More specifically, the two separate beds.

“Oh, good. No pillow wall tonight,” she comments, straining to make her voice sound relieved rather than disappointed.

“Right, good” Bellamy answers, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Thank god for that,” Clarke laughs, but it sounds stilted.

“If we’re not heading back tonight, we should check in back home,” she prompts, a little nervous for his response. Still, she's starting to feel pretty guilty that their family is probably beyond worried, especially Octavia. It’s not like they can stop them at this point anyways.

Bellamy shoots her a look in response but she isn’t going to back down as easily today.

“We just need to let them know we’re okay, not where we are. They’re probably worried.”

“Clarke, I didn’t ask you to come,” Bellamy snaps. He must see the hurt flash across her face because his voice is softer when he speaks again.

“I just mean, you shouldn’t feel obligated to come with me, if you’re not comfortable. You can stay here when I go tomorrow, if you want. But I don’t want to hear from my mom, so can you just respect the fact that there’s a reason I didn’t ask for their permission to come out here?”

“Okay, yeah. Whatever you want Bellamy,” Clarke concedes, tone defeated.

“Okay,” Bellamy sighs. “I’m going to check out the lobby, see if they have information about the city. I’ll be back in a few.” Clarke gives a short nod in response and he leaves the room. She waits until the door swings shut before she pulls out her phone.

Clarke hasn’t turned her phone on since she left. She doesn’t bother reading any of the dozens of texts that immediately pop up before she presses call on her Dad’s contact.

“Clarke?!” Jake answers after only two rings.

“Hey Dad, please don’t freak out.”

“Don’t freak out? Bellamy and you leave without a word in the middle of the night, phones off. We’ve been worried sick, where the _hell_ are you guys, Clarke?”

“Dad-”

“We’re coming to get you immediately, where are you?” His voice is somehow both frantic and angry. Clarke can’t remember the last time she’s heard him sound this way, if ever.

“Dad!” The line goes quiet. Now that she finally has his attention, she realizes she’s not sure she has a plan here regarding what she’s going to say.

She knows Bellamy and her are already royally screwed when they do get home, but she accepted that going into this. Right now, she just needs to minimize the damage and assure him that they’re safe.

“Dad, Bellamy wanted to meet his dad. I...he was going to go no matter what, I didn’t want him to go alone.”

“Clarke, did you two already see him?” His voice is tight in a strange way she's never heard before.

“No, not yet. He wasn’t home, we’re going to spend the night and try tomorrow. Then we’ll come right home, okay?”

“No, not okay, Clarke. You tell Bellamy to come straight home and-”

“Dad, you know he won’t.”

“Okay, you stay right where you are, I’m coming to you guys. Where are you?”

“Dad-”

“No Clarke, don’t start with me. You are _not_ to go to Ethan, okay? Under no circumstances are you going to speak with him, to meet him. Do you understand me?”

“Why? Why are you acting like this? Why can’t Bellamy meet his dad? I know maybe it’s hard for Aurora, but Bellamy just wants to meet him, I don’t understand-”

“Clarke, that is _not_ Bellamy’s dad. That man - he’s dangerous. He’s-”

“Dad, I have to go,” Clarke answers when she sees Bellamy walk by their room through the window. “We’re safe, don’t worry. We’ll be home tomorrow. I love you.”

“Clarke-”

She hangs up before he can finish, powering her phone off just as Bellamy is turning the door knob.

Something in her dad’s warning, in how worried his voice seemed, leaves her with a terrible feeling. Uncertainty floods through her for the first time since she got in Bellamy’s truck.

“Clarke?” Bellamy is standing against the open door, holding it open for her with a couple tourist pamphlets in his hand. “Ready to head out?”

Clarke nods and forces a small smile, trying to shake the desperate and frantic tone of her dad’s voice that's still ringing in her ears.

\--∞--

Bellamy and Clarke spend the rest of the day exploring the city, acting like the worst kind of tourists and enjoying every bit of it. It’s almost enough to make Clarke forget about the phone call with her dad. _Almost_ enough.

It’s nearly dusk as they make their way down Broadway. Clarke pulls her jacket tighter, the air crisp now that the sun is falling.

“Bell?” Clarke doesn’t balk at the nickname anymore, lets it slip off her tongue like it’s nothing.

“Hmm?”

“I’m not sure about meeting Ethan. Maybe we should talk to your mom about it...or make, like some kind of plan to contact him first or something.”

Bellamy wears a suspicious expression as he raises an eyebrow at her.

“I didn’t drive all this way to turn around- and you don’t have to worry about me, if that’s what this is. What’s the worst that can happen? He rejects me? Fine, I don’t know him anyways. I can handle it. I just want him to know I exist, since my mom couldn’t be bothered to tell him. I just want to have a conversation with him.”

Clarke just nods at him, unsure of how to explain her new concerns without revealing to him she called her dad.

“Hey,” he tells her, noticing the troubled expression she’s still wearing. He gives her shoulder a playful bump with his own as they continue walking.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Okay,” she nods.

“Hey, look at that,” he says a moment later, pointing at a flyer that caught his eye. It’s an ad for a Shallow Valley concert at some bar called the Dead Zone.

“I’ve heard these guys, they’re pretty good,” he adds. “Doesn’t look like you need tickets or anything.”

“Yeah, but it’s in a _bar_. We’re not even 18, let alone 21. We’ll never get in,” she says dismissively. Still, she can’t help but wish there was some they could. Hearing Shallow Valley play live in Nashville would be beyond cool.

Clarke glances at Bellamy, who doesn’t address her concerns. He’s staring at the ad a little too long, until Clarke sees that familiar expression of mischief that she used to associate with him planning her demise.

He finally looks up at her, a smirk on his face.

“What if we _could_ get in though?”

\--∞--

 _Only Bellamy Blake could convince me that doing something that starts with sneaking through a dark alley is a good idea_ , Clarke thinks to herself as she follows him closely further into the dark.

“See - there’s the door to the kitchen,” Bellamy whispers, nodding in the direction of the white rectangle of light at the end of the tunnel. The door is propped open and they watch as someone comes out to throw a bag in the dumpster next to it.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Yeah, great. A kitchen with _people_ in it. People who will _see_ us.”

“You worry too much,” he tells her with a smirk. “The kitchen is going to be busy, we just have to sneak through the people. I couldn't get the attention of the cooks at the diner during a rush if I _wanted_ to. We’ll be fine.”

“Sure,” Clarke huffs sarcastically. Still, she follows him further into the alley anyways. Dumb or not, she can’t help but feel that everything will be okay when she follows Bellamy. She can’t shake the faith she has in him.

They stand with their backs against the wall, Bellamy next to the door as he peers in to get a closer look.

“Okay, I see a path. We just have to make it to that hallway at the opposite end of the room, but everyone is flying around, doing their own thing. We’ll be fine.”

Clarke’s nerves jump around in her stomach, unhinged. Bellamy holds out his hand for her to take and she does, without really considering it. To her surprise, he interlaces his fingers with hers instead of simply grasping her hand. His larger hand encompasses her own and she focuses on her how his calloused hand feels perfect against her smooth one.

It’s strange, the effect he has on her. He anchors her, chases the nerves about their plan away, but makes her heart race away from her for entirely different reasons.

“Ready?”

Clarke just nods in response, and he pulls her through the doorway.

\--∞--

Bellamy pulls Clarke behind him, the excitement of his concocted break in and her hand in his giving him a strange kind of high. He doesn’t want to let go, but he can’t think of that now.

He was right - hardly anyone pays them much attention as they quietly slip through the kitchen, trying to stay as out of sight as possible. It’s really only a few minutes later when he reaches the door leading into the venue, but it feels like time has stretched on for hours.

Bellamy’s so close to the door, even puts his hand out to push it open, when it swings open towards them instead. He’s thankful he’s always been quick on his feet as he spins around to stand against the wall next to the door, pulling Clarke with him. He spares a moment to look at Clarke and is surprised to find a clear mischievous joy spreading across her face instead of worry.

For a moment, Bellamy thinks they’re in the clear. The guy coming through the door balancing three trays pays them no attention. But the guy about ten feet away from them looks up to address the guy with the trays. By some miracle, Bellamy sees the guy turning in their direction a second before he sees them.

Before he can think through the consequences of what he’s doing, before he can think about the fact it might be better to be kicked out or even arrested than to screw things up with Clarke again, he spins her against the wall and brings his lips down to meet hers.

Bellamy can feel her surprise as she lets out a small gasp, so quiet he’s sure only he heard it in the loud kitchen. Her mouth opens to a small, surprised O before she reacts. Then he’s not just kissing Clarke, they’re kissing each other. He lowers his hands to hold her hips, pushing her further against the wall until his body is pressed against hers.

He’s so caught up in how good she tastes, how smooth her lips are, how he wishes he could devour her, that he nearly forgets why they’re kissing. He remembers when he hears the guy behind him.

“Hey! What the hell are you two doing in here!”

Bellamy can hear from his tone that the guy’s not messing around - to say he sounds irritated would be an understatement. He pulls away from Clarke, despite the feeling that breaking contact might be his biggest regret.

“Hey man, sorry. We were just looking for an area more...private.” Bellamy makes a show of smirking at Clarke and he feels proud when she plays the perfect part, giggling like a drunk girl.

“Just get out of here!” the guy yells again, pointing at the door.

“Sorry!” Bellamy calls over his shoulder as he drags Clarke through the door. The band is already playing and they’ve barely made it to the crowded standing space before they break into a fit of laughter.

Yet it doesn’t take long for the laughter to die down and he watches as her face mimics how he suddenly feels. Awkward and unsure of what to say to the person who’s supposed to be his best friend.

“I’m sorry about that back there...had to think fast.” He’s relieved when she laughs it off.

“It’s no big deal, don’t worry about it. You got us in here, it all worked out,” she tells him, waving off his concerns. Bellamy tells himself he’s happy the kiss didn't change anything and tries to ignore the quiet disappointment at the fact that the kiss didn't change  _anything_.

\--∞--

Clarke and Bellamy head straight to the bar, given that they’ve already made it in without any black X’s revealing their age. They order a shot of whiskey each, downing it fast. She had pretended to brush off their kiss, thinks Bellamy brushed it off too, but she can tell he’s feeling more awkward about it than he originally let on when he immediately orders them another round.

In the end, right or wrong, alcohol does the trick. The two shots are just enough for Clarke’s nerves to recede and soon they’re joining the huge crowd in front of the stage, dancing and swaying to the rowdy music with everyone else.

Still, a few hours later and nearly sober again, anxiety over everything comes creeping back to Clarke. She knows she can’t chase it away with another shot. Maybe she can brush off the kiss, maybe she can pretend it meant nothing, but she can’t do that about Ethan. Bellamy’s not going to change his mind, and she has to protect him somehow. Even if that means him being angry with her.

“Hey!” she yells over the music, simultaneously pulling him down and standing on her tiptoes to reach his ear.

“You ready to go?” he asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time. It’s nearly 11PM and they’ve been in the bar for over four hours.

Clarke just nods at him and starts weaving through the crowd towards the front door. She doesn’t offer a hand, although she wishes she could. Still, she can sense him moving behind her. When they step out onto the street, the cool air is a welcome reprieve from the loud, hot bar. She leaves her jacket off, letting it wash over her.

“That was fun,” Bellamy comments, running a hand through his hair as they walk past others heading to and from restaurants and bars on the busy street. Clarke hums in agreement. They walk in a comfortable silence for ten minutes or so in the direction of their motel.

“Hey, you hungry?” Bellamy asks, noticing a BBQ-themed food truck on the side street they’re walking down.

“Always,” Clarke smiles at him. There are only a few others around. Although the truck is off the beaten path compared to Broadway, the area is still busy enough that it feels safe. She hangs back and watches as he talks easily with the owner, marveling at how he effortlessly he charms others. The owner laughs at something Bellamy says and it looks like they're already best friends. Eventually he returns to her with pulled pork sandwiches that he knows she loves.

They sit down on the curb to eat a little ways down from the truck, and she’s halfway through her sandwich when she decides she needs to say something. It’s now or never.

“Bellamy, I have to tell you something,” she starts, her voice shaky.

Bellamy sets his sandwich down and swallows thickly, a strange expression on his face.

“Yeah?”

“I called my dad earlier today.”

Just like that, whatever was going through his head a moment ago is swept away by anger, evidenced by the frown and the steel expression in his eyes.

“What the hell, Clarke?”

“Could you just hear me out, _please_?”

The irritated expression remains on his face, but to his credit, he waits quietly for her to continue.

“I called my dad, just to tell them we’re safe and everything’s fine. I didn’t even tell him what city we’re in, I just didn’t want them to worry. I told him we’d be home tomorrow, that you just wanted to meet Ethan, and he completely just, freaked out. He said under no circumstances were we to talk to him, that he wasn’t your dad, that he was...” Clarke hesitates, unsure of whether to use his exact words. “Dangerous,” she finishes, deciding there’s no better way to put it.

Bellamy quiet as he takes that in. A moment later, he stands up and tosses the rest of his sandwich out before starting to walk down the street without her.

“Bellamy!” she says, jogging until she catches up with him.

“Bell, c’mon. I don’t even know what it means, I just think we should wait and we-”

“ _I_ know what it means, Clarke,” he snaps at her. “Just stop - I don’t want to talk about this.”

Just like that, Clarke feels like she’s outside of the walls again.

The rest of the walk back to the motel only takes ten more minutes, but the minutes seem to stretch on for hours to Clarke. The silence is tense, the air between them seemingly ready to ignite with the smallest spark. When they reach the door, Bellamy puts the keys in Clarke’s hands and walks away in the direction of the pool, not giving Clarke a chance to refuse them.

Clarke stares at his back as he walks away, a bit dumbfounded. She shivers, the cool air no longer refreshing. She opens up the door and steps inside, the room quiet, dark, and above all, lonely. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she runs a hand through her tangled waves, unsure of what to do. It’s always one step forward and two steps back with Bellamy. Every time she gets comfortable with where they are, every time they make it onto the same page, something rips them apart. But the thing is, they _let_ it rip them apart, the both of them. She's sick of it.

She feels a small fire start to burn in her chest, the kind you get when you feel some unstoppable, renewed determination about something, driven by passion or love. She’s not going to let him push her away again. She’s going to be there, and whatever happens, they’ll face it together.

Clarke grabs the keys and leaves the room again, heading in the direction Bellamy disappeared into. It leads her to the pool, where she can see Bellamy’s back at a distance, shoes off and jeans rolled up, feet hanging in the water.

\--∞--

Bellamy moves his feet in the water, letting the weightlessness of the motions soothe him. He feels a little calmer, but not much better. The anger has faded, but he wishes it hadn’t given way to grief and fear.

 _Dangerous_ , Jake had told Clarke. Maybe he was too, just like Ethan. Maybe that anger that he always buries might break free one day. Maybe he’ll hurt someone.

Bellamy’s too lost in his thoughts to hear Clarke approach him from behind, doesn’t notice her until she’s already sitting down beside him and pulling off her own shoes. He glances at her as she drops one leg and then the other into the pool, dragging them through the water absentmindedly. They sit side by side in silence for a few minutes.

“He beat her, didn’t he?” Bellamy murmurs, asking the question born the minute he heard the word dangerous. It’s the question that immediately popped into his mind at the food truck, the one that made him so defensive to begin with. It’s the shameful question he didn’t want to face, couldn’t bear to verbalize. Yet, here he is, asking it anyways.

“I don’t know Bell,” she replies softly. “We won’t until we get home, until we talk to them.”

Then he asks the only other question that scares him more than the first. But he knows Clarke won’t lie to him. She doesn’t sugarcoat things, it’s one of the things he loves about her.

“What if I’m like him?”

Clarke shakes her head at that, as if incredulous at the question.

“That’s ridiculous, Bellamy,” she tells him, her voice stronger and more insistent than it was just a moment ago.

“You don’t-”

“I do know. You’re not like him. You’re a protector.”

He shakes his head at her, disbelieving that she could see him in that light.

“How do you know?” he asks.

“You protect _me_ ,” she tells him, her voice cracking slightly over the last word.

Bellamy turns to look at her, his heart pounding in his chest, only to find her blue eyes already searching his face. He’s not sure what she’s looking for, but he thinks she found it when she slowly takes his face in her small hands. Her hands are shaking slightly and he stills immediately, afraid the slightest movement might shatter the moment. In all these long seconds that seem to last eons, his eyes never leave hers.

In the same slow, hesitant way she brought her hands to his face, she leans in at the same time that she guides his face down to hers. The kiss she gives him is cautious, safe, but makes him feel like he’s finally home in a way he didn’t know he needed. Her hands drop from his face and she begins to break away, but she only makes it a few inches before he’s pulling her in again.

Bellamy kisses her like she’s his anchor, like he’ll float away, be lost to the world, if he lets her go. His hands run down her sides before resting at her hips, squeezing her slightly. He swallows her gasp at the movement, and their kisses quickly grow more desperate.

 _This won’t be enough_ , he thinks. _Nothing short of forever will be enough_.

Just as the thought crosses his mind, she falters, nearly falling into the pool before his hands tighten at her waist and bring her back to him. She laughs a little breathlessly, looking back up at him as he smiles down at her.

“We should head up, it’s late,” she murmurs, but her voice is husky and her eyes dark. It tells him the moment isn't going to shatter as easily as he feared.

“Just as well. I wouldn’t want you to push me in the pool,” he teases, moving away from her to stand. He takes her hand and pulls her up, almost lets it go, but hesitates. She answers the silent question for him when she interlaces her fingers with his instead of letting go.

\--∞--

Clarke doesn’t let go of his hand as he unlocks the door to their room, reveling in the feel of him rubbing small circles on her own with his thumb. When they walk inside, she suddenly feels unsure of herself, the spontaneity of the moment from the pool gone.

They stand there for a minute, him clearly as unsure as her, but neither willing to let the other go. Neither willing to risk letting this, whatever it may be, slip away from them. Her heart’s pounding so hard that she wonders how long it can last before it gives out.

Bellamy looks down at her and she meets his eyes, hoping her face says everything it needs to given that her voice is failing her. With his free hand, he gently tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. It’s a sweet gesture, simple, but just what they need to break the tension.

Clarke pulls him closer to her by his t-shirt with her own free hand, finally letting go of him in order to place both her hands on his hips. It’s all the encouragement he needs. Bellamy leans down and captures her lips with his own.

It’s no longer sweet and unsure like the first kiss at the pool. Bellamy breaks through her lips with his tongue, somehow pulling her even closer with his own hands. They kiss like they’ve been deprived of something necessary to life, something they can’t get enough of. Clarke lets her hands wander under his t-shirt, wraps her arms around him, needing him even closer, despite their bodies already being pressed against each other.

She needs to feel his skin against her own, needs to give into everything she’s spent months upon months pining for. She lifts his shirt and she whimpers when his lips break away from hers so that he can shrug the rest of it off.

Instead of kissing her again, he lets his hands wander under her own t-shirt, a question in his eyes. She answers it for him when she pulls the t-shirt off a moment later, tossing it on the floor next to his. His jaw goes slack for a moment as he takes in her chest, his heavy lidded eyes somehow even darker. She blushes but proud that she can elicit that kind of reaction from him, her stomach swirling with anticipation.

His large hands grasp her waist, sending a shiver up her spine. He brings his lips down to her neck, trailing slow kisses up to her jaw. The throb between her legs is growing insistent, demanding an answer. She feels like her veins are on fire, but she’d let him burn her down, no questions asked.

Instead of kissing her again when he makes his way to her cheek, he rests his forehead against her own. It feels more intimate than anything she’s experienced, but it’s Bellamy. It doesn't scare her, it only feels right, as if things are clicking into place the way they were always supposed to.

“Do you want this?” he whispers to her, his voice revealing him to be more wrecked than she realized.

“Yes,” she whispers back, sounding just as gone. She doesn’t ask what he means by _this_ because it doesn’t matter. She wants everything with him and she’ll take as much as he’s willing to give.

He kisses her again, this time more insistently, as he guides her backwards towards one of the beds. Her legs give out easily when she feels the bed hit the back of her knees, but he doesn’t break contact as she falls backward onto it.

Bellamy half lifts her farther onto the bed before climbing over her, knees between her legs as their kisses grow messier. He runs his hands up her waist but this time he doesn’t stop, giving her breasts a soft squeeze over her bra that makes her moan into his mouth.

Clarke breaks their kiss and sits up slightly, unclipping her bra from behind. She watches him watch her as she pulls it off, feeling very aware that this is the most Bellamy’s ever seen of her.

He lets out what sounds like a groan as he takes her in, quickly bringing his lips to her collarbone as she lays back down, tilting her chin upwards to give him better access. He sucks at the skin where shoulder meets neck, biting it softly as his hands explore her chest. He flicks a nipple as he cups her other breast, eliciting another moan. Her core has a heartbeat of its own, her want growing unbearable.

Bellamy catches on when she unconsciously rubs her thighs together, chasing any friction that might give her the smallest relief. He brings his face above hers, a question in his eyes as he trails an index finger up her inner thigh. Clarke nods and he quickly works on unbuttoning her jeans. She shimmies out of them as quickly as possible, letting Bellamy pull the last leg off and toss the aside.

Bellamy sits shirtless on his knees between her legs. The thought passes her mind that she should feel self-conscious, lying before him in only a pair of white lace underwear. But it’s _Bellamy_ , and she only feels safe.

 _You protect me_ , she had told him. It was perhaps one of the most honest things she had ever said to him. To anyone.

Bellamy runs his hands up and down her thighs, as if soothing her.

“Clarke…” It sounds like he nearly chokes on her name. “How far...what do you want to do?”

His question makes her realize the enormity of the moment in a way she wasn’t considering just a second ago, having let biology drive her forward with no questions asked. She considers his face, how sincere his expression is despite the lust clouding his eyes.

She takes his hands from where they’re trailing up and down her thighs, half because it's driving her mad, and sits up to meet him. She places her hands on his own thighs this time, using them to push herself up enough so that she can reach his ear with her lips, her breasts pressing against his bare chest as she does so.

“I want all of you, Bellamy Blake,” she whispers.

“Jesus, Clarke,” he mutters, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into another kiss. She feels like she’s melting in his arms.

Bellamy lays her back down and begins unbuttoning his own jeans. He watches her carefully as he does, as if searching for any sign of hesitancy. Instead she just smiles. It’s not a sultry, suggestive smile, but the kind that comes from real joy. The kind you can’t help but release. Bellamy smirks at that, standing to pull off his jeans before climbing back onto the bed wearing only a pair of dark boxers, sitting between her legs again.

He surprises her by leaning down to press a tender kiss to her stomach as his hands hold her thighs. He moves over her after that, an arm on each side of her. Clarke thinks about how Finn’s body over hers felt like a cage she didn't have keys to, while Bellamy feels like a wall protecting her. Her stomach flips as he kisses her slowly, moving one of his hands down to trace her inner thigh as he had started to before.

“Bellamy,” she whimpers, her lips still pressed against his. She feels his responding smile as he pushes her underwear aside to run a finger up her slit. He buries his head in her neck and groans, seemingly at how wet she already is for him. Her legs shake when he presses softly on her clit, rubbing slow circles around it.

Bellamy brings his head back up to face her, kissing her soft and quick on the side of her head. She pulls him down to kiss her as he places a finger at her entrance. She tenses when he sinks it into her, but the slight burn gives way to pleasure as he begins pumping it, bumping her clit as he does. He crooks his finger, trailing across the place inside her that she’s never been able to reach with her own fingers. The pleasure is so acute she throws her head back, breaking their kiss as she pants softly.

“Two?” he asks, sounding as out of breath as her. She nods quickly as she grasps at the sheets.

His second finger stretches her beyond what she’s used to and it’s the tension instead of pleasure that makes her grasp at the sheets this time. He moves his finger slightly, giving her a moment to get used to it, before he starts pumping into her again.

The pressure in her lower belly builds higher and higher as Bellamy’s mouth moves lower and lower, leaving a trail of hot kisses down her neck and finally to her breasts. He has to hold her down at the waist with his other arm as she starts to squirm. Her toes curl and she pants his name like a prayer as he pumps into her at a steady pace. When he flicks his tongue across her nipple and takes it in his mouth, she sees white as her orgasm washes over her, more intense than she’s ever experienced.

Bellamy pulls out his fingers and comes back up to kiss her, but she only half responds to it, dazed. He’s hard through his boxers as he brushes against her, making her skin tingle and bringing her back down to reality. He sits up suddenly, running a hand through his hair. She nearly whines at the lack of contact.

“Shit Clarke, I don’t have a condom. I wasn’t-I didn’t think…”

“I’m on the pill, Bellamy,” she assures him. He raises a brow at her.

“Cycle regulation,” she says with an eye roll and small smirk at his confusion.

“Are you-”

“Yeah, I’m clean,” he assures her. His face relaxes again as he runs his hands up her thighs, pupils blown as he takes her in.

“Clarke, are you sure? We don’t have-”

“I’m sure,” she murmurs. He leans back down to kiss her slowly again. She's craved this moment for so long, she finds herself already getting worked up again with simply his lips on hers, her hands stroking his biceps. She wants this, she wants Bellamy, but she still finds herself nervous as his length brushes against her again.

His hand cups her breast, gives it a gentle squeeze, as he kisses her neck.  

“Bell, you know I haven’t…”she trails off.

“I’m gonna take care of you Princess, don’t worry,” he whispers softly into her ear. The old nickname does something to her and she moves her hands from his arms to the waistband of his boxers. He gets the hint and breaks away briefly to take them off.

Bellamy hovers over her again a moment later, giving her a deep but quick kiss. She feels him at her entrance, still wet. When he rubs himself against her a few times, she aches with want as a moan escapes him. She feels empty, clamping down on nothing.

Bellamy rests his forehead against hers as he lines up at her entrance. Once again, she thinks how the intimacy should make her want to run, but instead she only feels more safe as his eyes lock with hers and he begins to push into her slowly.

The pain as he stretches her is sharper than she expected and she lets out a gasp. Tears prick the corner of her eyes just as Bellamy lets out another moan that gives her goosebumps. He pauses to let her adjust and she presses her fingers into his biceps even harder, letting him anchor her.

“Hey,” he says gently, ghosting his hand up her waist as he notices how she’s tensed beneath him. Clarke hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath.

“Kiss me,” she commands, her voice shaky. He complies by kissing her slowly, taking his time as he swipes his tongue along her bottom lip. She breathes him in, let’s all of her senses get lost in Bellamy, and feels herself relax.

“Bell,” she prompts. He understands her immediately and pulls out slightly before pushing further into her. She moans at how full of him she feels. He peppers her face with soft kisses, runs a hand up her thigh that’s now wrapped around his waist, although she doesn’t remember doing that. She feels his hand shake as he fights for control.

He pulls out again and pushes into her once more, this time bottoming out.

“Jesus, so tight Clarke,” he grunts, biting the flesh between her shoulder and neck. He comes up to kiss her, searching her eyes for any discomfort. He leaves his forehead against hers again, eyes locked. She breathes heavy as she adjusts to him, focusing on the freckles sprinkled across his nose. When she gives him an almost imperceptible nod, he begins to thrust into her at a slow but steady pace.

All she can do is feel. Feel his arms beneath her hands, his chest brush against her breasts, him moving inside her, finally nothing between them. The initial pain gives way to a new kind of pleasure she's never experienced and they get lost in it together. Quickened breaths, moans, and the sound of their bodies meeting again and again fill the room. She can see the beads of sweat begins to form on Bellamy’s forehead, can feel his thrusts quicken and grow more desperate.

“C’mon Princess, let me feel you come,” he urges her. The way his voice is thick like honey is all it takes to send her tumbling over the edge, surprising her as she screams his name. He follows her mere seconds later, groaning and letting his face fall to her neck as he spills into her.

The room is silent save their shallow pants. Bellamy had let himself collapse onto her, the thin sheen of sweat on both of them making them stick to one another. Clarke lets one hand stroke up and down his side as the other goes to his head, combing his hair back and playing with his curls as he softens inside of her.

When he pushes himself up, he presses a tender kiss to her forehead before pulling out and heading into the bathroom. Clarke feels slightly more self-conscious than she did a minute ago, a little unsure as she sits up. Bellamy comes out a minute later and hands her a washcloth. They don’t say anything as they clean up. To say it’s a comfortable silence would be a stretch, but they give each other small smiles, soft if not a little uncertain.

\--∞--

Bellamy puts on a clean pair of boxers and watches Clarke as she throws on a sleep shirt two sizes too big. Once they’re dressed, there’s nothing left to do. They stand a few feet apart, taking each other in.

He clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair.

“Clarke,” he starts. “I should have said this before, but I-” Bellamy cuts himself off, deciding not to tell her he loves her just yet. He doesn’t want to overwhelm her if she’s not there yet. “My feelings for you are real, have been for a really long time.”

Clarke closes the distance between them, takes his hands in hers as she looks up at him. Her smile at him is so soft, so open, it’s a singular image that will stay with him for the rest of his life.

“I feel the same,” she tells him, her voice quiet.

“I don’t know what this means, for us,” he tells her, tightening his hold on her hands.

Clarke nods in agreement, swallowing thickly. The reality of their situation washes over them. He senses her tense and wraps her in his arms, rocking her gently.

“C’mon, let’s go to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow, we’ll figure this out together,” he assures her, although he sounds more confident than he feels. She nods as she follows him to the bed, suddenly looking exhausted.

Bellamy turns off the light and climbs in after her. He scoots close to her, his stomach to her back, and places a hesitant hand on her waist. She responds by pulling his arm to wrap around her, placing his hand on the bare skin of her stomach under her shirt. He moves closer so that she’s pressed flush against him.

He stares over her towards the untouched second bed and lets a million thoughts wash over him in the dark as he absentmindedly strokes her stomach. Thoughts about his real father, thoughts about Clarke, thoughts about their family. He ghosts his lips over her hairline before pressing a gentle kiss to it, half afraid she’ll disappear.

 _No matter what happens with the rest of all this, as long as you’ll have me, I’ll never let you go_ , he thinks.

His eyes grow heavy as he’s pulled under, the thought flowing through him as he surrenders to his dreams.

\--∞--

**12 Years Later**

_Bellamy listens to the steady click of his shoes echoing off the cathedral’s marble flooring, the sound reverberating through the entire hall. He’s never liked churches. He wants to - he wants to find comfort in them like others do. Instead they simply remind him of the candles he would steal, sure at seven years old that he would go to hell for it, but knowing he had to just the same. The big man upstairs didn’t seem to be willing to give him a hand. He knew from a young age that he was on his own._

_He tugs at his crisp white collar, fighting the urge to rip off his tux. He runs a hand through his hair, feeling the evidence of the thin layer of sweat that he’s broken out in despite the cathedral’s AC system._

_Bellamy wanders, allows himself to get lost in the massive cathedral’s hallways and tunnels. Eventually he stumbles upon a small alter, seemingly tucked away from any normal path a guest might take. A saint who he doesn’t know stares down at him, but Bellamy pulls out his flask just the same._

_“Cheers,” he mutters at it, lifting the flask in its direction._

_It’s marble eyes are cold, unforgiving. Bellamy takes a hearty swig anyways, the whiskey burning his throat. He doesn’t flinch._

_I’ll never let you go, he had thought all those years ago. It was more than a prayer, it was a vow. One he believed in with all his heart._

_I’ll never let you go, he had thought. So how had he?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I definitely channeled Tyrondy, if anyone is a Cloak & Dagger fan. If you're a Bellarke fan not watching, go get fed, it's amazing.
> 
> And yes - despite the flash forward, the story will pick up in the present for the next chapter. 
> 
> Hope you're still liking it!


	11. Half Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA. Sorry I suck guys. This took forever, but hope you're still enjoying if you're still with me!

Bellamy throws his gym bag into the back of his truck and runs a hand through his hair, still damp from the school’s gym showers. It was another home win for the baseball team; the season is almost over and they’re heading into the finals.

“Would you hurry up?” he calls at Murphy who is trailing behind him and Miller, a grin on his face as he stares at his phone. It’s a grin Bellamy  _ never _ would have thought might replace Murphy’s usual scowl, the one Bellamy’s been familiar with since they were kids. But that was before Emori. 

“Can’t wait the ten minute drive before you see her?” Miller teases him as he catches up to them. Just like that, the signature Murphy scowl is back. 

“Shut up,” he says, giving Miller a shove before he climbs into the middle seat of the truck. Bellamy starts it up as Miller climbs in behind Murphy, shaking his head at him but not without a little smile. 

“Just never thought I’d see you like that, man. Even Bryan and I aren’t that gross.”

Bellamy just laughs at the exchange, just as surprised as Miller is at the turn of events. Including for himself, unbeknownst to them. 

“You know, for someone who hasn’t been getting any for half a year, you’ve seemed pretty happy yourself lately,” Miller adds, giving Bellamy a pointed look. 

Bellamy scoffs at that. “I didn’t say I wasn’t getting any.”

_ Now _ they have Murphy’s attention again. He finally puts his phone down and raises a brow at Bellamy. Bellamy only rolls his eyes at the two of them, focusing on the road. 

“I didn’t say I was or wasn’t. Point is, it’s none of your business.”

“Okay, there’s being coy, then there’s being secretive,” Murphy argues. “You’re being secretive. This girl must have a tail or something.”

_ Yeah, a step-sister shaped tail _ , Bellamy thinks.

“I’m really not seeing anyone guys,” he says with a sigh. “Just because I’m not in a bad mood doesn’t mean I’m having sex with someone.” 

Miller and Murphy exchange a disbelieving glance, one that Bellamy  _ definitely _ notices, but don’t push him any further. They’ve been making these comments for months, but Bellamy isn’t budging for obvious reasons. 

Of course he wishes he could tell them about him and Clarke- just not in the ways they might think. He wishes he could brag about  _ her _ , not just the sex. How she’s gorgeous, how she understands him. How she accepts him for who he is but somehow also makes him want to be better. How she makes him laugh, even when she doesn’t mean to. How amazing it is to watch her draw, how he could watch for hours as she disappears into some secret place no one else can follow, but damn it if he doesn’t wish he could. He’s the luckiest of all of them, and he can’t say a damn word about it. 

Bellamy feels familiar butterflies in his stomach at the thought of seeing her at the fire they’re heading to. Even after all these months, just the thought of her sets his nerves on fire. Maybe part of that is the thrill of the secret itself. Still, he thinks it wouldn’t matter. He thinks he’d feel this way regardless, maybe even more so if he didn't have to hide it around everyone. Despite the occasional thrill of their secret, it mostly just makes things worse. He can tell Clarke feels the same way, even though they don’t talk about it. Of all the things they  _ do _ talk about these days, which is just about everything, the weight of their secret is the one thing they don’t discuss. It’s the one thing they’re afraid to speak aloud, as if the universe itself might hear about it and take everything away from them. 

\--∞--

_ Clarke had sat close to him the whole way back from Nashville, his arm around her and her hand settled comfortably on his thigh as he drove them the long journey back. He wasn’t sure what to expect that morning they woke up. It struck him that of all the girls he had been with, he had never woken up beside one - had never wanted to before Clarke. It was everything he had wanted, had imagined just that very night before. Except there was no pillow wall anymore, only their bodies entangled as one.  _

_ Unsurprisingly, he woke before her just after the sun had risen. It took him a moment to remember where he was, his initial confusion at the soft body wrapped around him coming back to him with memories of the night before. It felt like it must have been a dream. The taste of her, how he was allowed to finally touch every inch of her. The sound of her gasping his name, the feel of her fluttering around him.  _

_ But the body his arms were wrapped around reminded him it was no dream at all. His heart pounded at the memory of her wanting him as much as he had wanted her for all those months. For much longer than that, if he was being honest with himself. She shifted under him, as if somehow sensing that he had woken up.  _

_ “Hey,” she said softly. Adorable groggy eyes looked up at him, her face framed by a mane of tangled blonde waves. She interlaced her fingers with his own, a quiet reassurance that whatever happened late into the night yesterday would remain in the light of day.  _

_ They had packed up quickly and began their drive home before the clock struck eight. Despite the uncertainty of their parents’ wrath waiting at home, the revelation of the truth of Ethan Shumway and an eagerness to explore what had happened between them left them with little desire to stick around Nashville much longer.  _

_ Bellamy thought it might be awkward between them, the long car ride home after what happened. Instead it was as if things were finally set right. The tension that had long burdened them dissipated as they finally gave into their feelings for each other. They didn’t have to hide their smiles at the other. Clarke could run her hand up and down Bellamy’s thigh as they drove, humming along softly to whatever song was playing. Bellamy could press a kiss to the side of her head just because he felt like it. There was no holding back anymore, which was terrifying in its own way. Holding pack, burying his feelings, was the only thing he knew how to do. Still, it was a good kind of terrifying, unlike the heavy suppression of everything he had faced his whole life.  _

_ Despite their closeness during the drive home, Clarke shifted away from him back towards the window seat almost as soon as they passed the ‘Welcome to Arkadia’ sign and crossed the town line. He immediately missed the steady pressure of her hand on his thigh. She gave him an almost apologetic look before turning to look out the window, confirming what he already knew: this new truth between them, whatever it might be, could exist only in the shadows. _

_ When they arrived home, they faced what they expected. Yelling, which eventually transformed into a more gentle scolding as their parents calmed down, and eventually a dealing out of punishments in the form of groundings. Still, it wasn’t quite as bad as they expected and they were both surprised to receive an apology from their parents about the whole situation. Perhaps most surprising of all was Octavia, who instead of yelling at them or shutting them out simply hugged each of them tightly, whispering how glad she was that they were both back safely.  _

_ Jake and Aurora sat the family down at the dining table, as if they were sitting down to a family dinner instead of an intense and uncomfortable conversation. Still, it was a relief to finally hear the unabridged truth. Aurora told them the truth of Ethan Shumway - how she fell for him, how he became abusive, first emotionally and then physically. When he decided to leave town, Aurora thought it was a blessing. She had just learned she was pregnant and was afraid for the both of them.  _

_ When she told them this, Bellamy couldn’t help but look away from her, irrational guilt flooding through him for his father’s sins. Aurora paused in her story to take his chin in her small hand and guide his face and eyes back to her own. She looked him in the eyes and with more conviction in her voice than he’d ever heard from her, she told him that he was not Ethan. That Ethan was no one to them. Still, it was a declaration easier said than truly accepted.  _

_ Aurora and Jake ended the family meeting by assuring them there would be no more secrets in the family, that it was the only way for a family to remain strong. Bellamy had to physically restrain himself from glancing at Clarke as his ears turned hot. It was the first of many more moments of guilt that washed over him when he thought about him and Clarke.  _

_ It was late into the evening when Clarke found him sitting on the roof staring out into the night,  _the velvet sky littered with stars._ The cicadas hummed a rhythm in the distance, its familiarity putting his mind somewhat at ease. She sat down next to him and stared out into the abyss with him, just like they always had. He loves that they haven’t lost this part of their relationship.  _

_ “What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice so soft it was nearly a whisper. He felt torn between the familiar instinct to push her away as he would anyone and that new urge to share everything with her that had snuck up with him in the last few months. He knew he needed to give into the latter. It felt like jumping out of a plane without a parachute, trusting only her to catch him. Still, he knew if anyone’s arms were strong and capable enough, it was Clarke’s. _

_ “I’m thinking...I can’t believe he’s my father. That even though he’s not my father, he’s half my DNA. I’m thinking that even though I’ve never met this man, I’m suddenly feeling like I need to be ashamed on his behalf.” _

_ Clarke just nodded. She didn’t try to tell him he was wrong because he already knew she thought that - Clarke always knows when he just needs to feel what he feels. He loves that about her too. She took his hand a moment later, held it between both of hers in her lap. The spark it ignited deep inside him reminded him there was more that they needed to discuss. _

_ “So, we should probably talk about...other things,” he prompted, a little awkwardly. Clarke didn’t answer, only continued to play with his hand still resting in her lap.  _

_ “Hey,” he tried, gently guiding her face to look at him. He tucked a familiar fallen strand of hair behind her ear, noting the apprehension in her eyes even among the shadows. For the first time since the night before, he felt nervous about where they stood. Still, despite all the definite complications they were going to face, he wanted this. He wanted her.  _

_ “Finally at a loss for words. This is a first,” he teased her. She huffed a laugh, knocked him with her shoulder. He sighed as some of the tension dissolved.  _

_ “I’m not good at this part, talking about things,” she said.  _

_ “That makes two of us,” he told her with a smirk. _

_ “Especially,” she continued, “when I can’t find any solution, no matter how long I wrack my brain for one.” _

_ “Maybe between the two of us, we can figure this out. Together.”  _

_ Clarke sighed, but he could see the hint of a smile as she searched his face. _

_ “Together,” she repeated, finally.  _

_ “C’mere,” he whispered, pulling her by her hands still clasping his own so that she was seated between his legs, her back resting against his chest.  _

_ “We both want this,” he started, wrapping his arms around her. “So we see where this goes. We keep it to ourselves...for now. Maybe we can’t keep it a secret forever, but what if we do just for now? I meant what I said yesterday. My feelings for you are real, I don’t want to fight them anymore, it’s exhausting. If you still feel the same-” _

_ “I do, of course I do,” she cut him off. It drew a chuckle from him, how insistent her voice sounded. _

_ “Then what do you think?” _

_ “Me and you…” Clarke repeated, trying it out. “Keeping it from our friends, our family, Octavia.” Octavia’s name came out as a question rather than a statement.  _

_ “Octavia,” Bellamy repeated. The person they both would feel the worst about hiding this from. “Yeah, it’d have to be Octavia too,” he finished decisively. He didn’t like it, but whatever Clarke and him were - if it got out, if their parents found out, if there friends or the town found out… _

_ “Okay,” she agreed. “Until we figure out someway we can be together in public. Then we tell her, and everyone else too.” _

_ Bellamy nodded, burying his face in her neck. He breathed her in as she sank deeper into his embrace. They would find a way to truly be together, somehow. He ignored the small voice that prodded at him, asking how even though there was no real answer. He ignored it and chose instead to live in the moment. He was choosing to live blissfully in denial of any possible future that might tear them apart. It was a first for him, but whatever happened, it would be worth it. It would have to be. _

\--∞--

Clarke absentmindedly sips her whiskey coke, idly chatting with Octavia and Raven and trying her hardest not to seem  _ too _ obvious when she glances down the gravel driveway about every 30 seconds, hoping for a glimpse of Bellamy’s headlights coming towards the field. 

He pitched another great Friday night game and everyone was celebrating at a bonfire in a field at the edge of town. Her  _ boyfriend _  had pitched a great game, she thinks to herself. But even that title doesn’t seem completely right. They’ve been together secretly for nearly six months, and she still hasn’t found that word that encompasses, “the annoying step brother I used to hate who I’m now in love with and secretly dating.”

Clarke is listening to Raven talk about the new guy she started seeing a few weeks back. He’s a new mechanic at Sinclair’s shop that started a few months back and Raven finally made a move. Clarke’s really happy for her - she can’t remember seeing her smile so much since the terrible break up with Finn. In fact, Clarke is listening to her gush about him so intently that it’s Raven who notices Bellamy first. 

“Hey, Bellamy finally showed up,” she says, cutting herself off and waving at him as he climbs out of the truck from a distance away. Clarke turns in time to see him walking in their direction with Miller and Murphy in tow. Octavia crosses her arms defensively and just rolls her eyes at the sight of them. 

Clarke has to bite back her smile as she sees him coming, wishing she could run up to him the minute she sees him. Wishing that she could jump into his arms like it was nothing. Wishing he could have surprised her by wrapping his arms around her from behind, his all encompassing warmth feeling like home. 

She wishes she could bring him over to dinner to meet her family, her dad who would see him only as her boyfriend instead of his own son. She wishes for a lot of things, but it’s selfish to want these things. She’s lucky they have each other at all, so what if it isn’t perfect? Not to mention these are the kinds of thoughts that lead to the guilt creeping up on her. 

It’s felt heavier to her this last month, although she’s not sure why. Maybe it’s because the longer they lie to their family and friends, to  _ Octavia _ , the scarier and more damaging the truth will be when it eventually comes out. 

_ Eventually _ , she thinks, is the big elephant shaped word in the room. Really, they aren’t any closer to telling any kind of truth to anyone than they were when they started this thing. In fact, they don’t talk about that at all anymore, because there’s no fix for it, not really- 

“He’s been more insufferable than ever about Atom lately,” Octavia complains, interrupting the dark rabbit hole Clarke was falling down. 

Raven and Clarke share a concerned but knowing look. They’re both familiar with this saga. Clarke glances over at the three of them again and catches Murphy greeting Emori by playfully throwing her over his shoulder as Miller breaks away to meet Bryan, throwing an arm around him in greeting. Ugly, unwanted jealousy itches under Clarke’s skin at the sight of them. 

“Hey,” Bellamy greets the three of them, walking up to them alone. 

“Congrats, man,” Raven greets, clapping him on the shoulder. Clarke mimics her congratulations and he nods at her in greeting, careful not to let his eyes linger. 

“No congrats from my baby sister?” he asks, turning to Octavia. She just gives him a glare. Bellamy nods knowingly and gives her a teasing eye roll that flickers with real annoyance underneath the surface. He can’t help himself from looking around the different groups drinking around the fire. 

“He’s not even here yet, would you calm down,” Octavia scolds, sounding exasperated. Clarke and Raven laugh but Octavia isn’t seeing the humor in it. Bellamy smirks at his sister, but there’s no warmth behind it, only irritation.

“I mean, Wick’s a few years older than me,” Raven points out to Bellamy, trying to mediate. 

“Right, Wick is 19 and you’re 17. A little different than an 18 year old going after a 15 year old,” Bellamy snaps. 

Raven puts her hands up as if in surrender. 

“Alright, well I’m going to grab a drink,” he tells them, shaking his head slightly. Clarke watches his back as he walks away from them towards Miller, Bryan, and some other guys from the team.

Clarke hates that on top of them lying to Octavia about their own relationship, Bellamy and Octavia aren’t getting along. She wants to defend Bellamy, explain his feelings on the situation to Octavia in a way Bellamy can’t seem to communicate. She wants to tell her about their conversations about the situation, explain to her Bellamy’s only trying to protect her - that he’s well intentioned, however misguided. Yet, that feels like she’s betraying Octavia. In fact, it probably means she is. She should always have  _ Octavia’s _ back - she’s her  _ sister _ after all. Instead, she has to stop herself from siding with her boyfriend over her. 

_ Bellamy laid sprawled across the living room couch with his head resting on Clarke’s lap as they watched the latest It movie. Clarke played absentmindedly with his curls, combing her fingers through his hair in a soothing motion as she loved to do. The scene was innocent enough for a sixteen year old and her boyfriend, but unlike their counterparts, they watched the movie with their ears peeled for the sound of the front door opening. It would be a signal they needed to spring apart to opposite sides of the couch at a moment’s notice.  _

_ “Nothing good is going to come of it,” Bellamy complained to her. “He’s only after one thing. Probably likes the chase more than anything,” he huffed.  _

_ “Hmm so guys only want one thing, huh?” she teased him, continuing to comb her fingers through his tangled curls.  _

_ “Yeah, in his case. He’s a senior, she’s a freshman. Hell, he’s leaving for college in Florida in a few months. There’s no scenario where he’s actually being genuine here. I swear to God if he tries something…” he trailed off. His eyes remained on the screen but it was clear neither was paying much attention to the movie anymore.  _

_ “Bell, you don’t have to trust Atom. You have to trust Octavia, your sister. Give her more credit, she’s not an idiot.” _

_ “Well if she has an idiotic moment, she’s going to be devastated. Or worse.” Bellamy didn’t elaborate; they both knew he was thinking of Aurora, pregnant and alone.  _

_ “She won’t. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. You raised her better than that. You just don’t see it because she’ll always be a little girl to you.” _

_ Bellamy just hummed in response. They watched in silence for a few minutes longer, until he broke their comfortable silence, shifting onto his back so his eyes were looking up to her.  _

_ “Maybe you’re right, maybe guys do only want one thing,” he teased, his voice rough. Clarke couldn’t stop the wide smile that she broke into against her will. _

_ “Is that right?” she murmured, her heart already racing. “What’s that?” _

_ Bellamy sat up and placed a hand on the couch on either side of her, caging her in. He leaned in, as if to kiss her, only to brush his lips against her ear. “Let me show you,” he whispered. _

_ Clarke didn’t have time to respond. She yelped as he moved away from her and pulled her onto his lap with him. She wrapped her other leg around him to straddle him, her body acting on instinct at this point. Her body knew every freckle and goosebump on his. Her body had a memory of its own, could already feel the ghost of his past touch, could remember exactly what it could give her. _

_ She leaned down to kiss him deeply as he let his hands wander under her sweatshirt, grasping at her waist. Clarke ran her thumbs across his cheeks where her hands held his face gently before moving them back to his hair. Chests pressed against each other, she could feel his heart pounding in sync with her own with every kiss as she explored the taste of him. _

_ Clarke could feel him growing under her through the thin layers of his sweatpants and her leggings. She ground down on him as he kissed her harder, seeking friction as his hands moved up towards her breasts. When he bucked his hips up, she broke away from their kiss with a moan as he moved his lips to her neck. Just as she tilted her neck to the side to give him better access, they heard the familiar jingle of the keys in the front door.  _

_ Clarke nearly fell off the couch as she ungracefully untangled herself and climbed off him. She went as far as the other couch and tried to breathe steadily, stealing a glance at Bellamy as the door shut. He threw the couch blanket over his lap and attempted to pat down his hair a few times.  _

_ “Hey kiddos,” Jake greeted them a moment later as Clarke heard Aurora head into the kitchen to store away leftovers in the fridge. They both turned to look at him as if they were too engrossed in the movie to hear them come into the house.  _

_ “Hey Dad,” she greeted at the same time Bellamy asked, “How was dinner?” _

_ “It was pretty good. Went to that new steak place in Colombia we’ve been meaning to try.” Jake clapped a hand over Bellamy’s shoulder. “Friday night and no hot date?” he teased him.  _

_ Clarke saw the way Bellamy’s ears grew a shade deeper of red and the guilty grimace that he tried to mask, but Clarke knew by now that Jake was none the wiser. They chatted about baseball for a few minutes before Jake disappeared into the kitchen after Aurora.  _

_ Bellamy was quieter the rest of the night. Clarke texted him goodnight from her own room and he answered the same, but didn’t come to her that night.  _

“I really think Atom’s going to ask me to prom,” Octavia gushes, as soon as Bellamy is out of earshot. 

“Oh?” Raven prompts. 

“Yeah, he texts me all the time. You’re going to prom, aren’t you?” she asks Raven. Clarke takes a large gulp of her drink. It would feel strange for Octavia to make it to prom before Clarke, as a freshman no less. Still, Clarke doesn't really care about that sort of thing like Octavia does. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Raven responds. “I mean, I don’t want to ask Wick. He’s graduated and all, he won’t want to go. That just leaves me with the guys, who are all coupled up.” 

“Not Bellamy,” Octavia retorts. Clarke grips her drink tighter, feels her stomach swoop nervously at the suggestion. “I mean, as friends of course, since you’re with Wick.”

“He really hasn’t asked anyone, huh?” Raven questions. “That doesn’t sound like Bellamy, but I guess he has uncharacteristically kept to himself recently. Gina must have really fucked him up.”

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. Clarke probably knows more about it than me,” Octavia says.

Clarke looks up like a deer in headlights at the suggestion. “What?”

“I just mean Bellamy and I aren’t on the best of terms, so I figured he talks about it with you more than me.”

“Oh...no, I don’t know. He hasn't said. Maybe no one’s caught his eye?” she tries. 

“Hm, I mean maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to go with Bellamy. It’s not like we haven’t already got that out of our system,” Raven laughs. Clarke takes another gulp of her drink to keep from gagging. “It could be fun, since I think were the only single ones of the juniors in our group.”  

“You should ask!” Octavia encourages. Raven looks at Clarke next, giving her an assessing look that makes Clarke nervous. 

“Totally,” Clarke adds, only because she feels like it's suspicious  _ not _  to encourage it at this point. Raven looks at Clarke for a moment longer, making Clarke feel like she could physically squirm. Octavia doesn’t seem to notice, given how she’s glancing around the fire to see if Atom showed up. 

“Nah, actually, I don’t think so,” Raven says finally. “Wick would probably be weirded out by it, even if he doesn’t want to go.”

Clarke nods, unsure of what else to say to that. 

\--∞--

It’s a few hours into the fire when Bellamy figures people are drunk enough that they won't notice his absence. He sneaks away from the crowd, pulling out his phone as he heads towards his truck.

**_Bellamy:_ ** _ Hey Princess. Truck in ten? _

**_Clarke:_ ** _ Sure.  _

Bellamy frowns at his phone as he quietly climbs into the driver seat a few minutes later. Clarke’s not usually  _ that _ short with him via text, even if she’s not exactly a “use every emoji in the book” kind of texter either. He glances at the fire in the far distance. Bellamy parked away from the other cars for this very reason, and knows that the other cars spread a good distance from one another in the field are probably parked that way for the same reason. 

He scrolls down Instagram for about fifteen minutes before he hears the passenger seat door open. 

“Hey,” he says, smiling at her. God, she’s so effortlessly beautiful. How’d he get so lucky? 

Clarke smiles back at him but he knows her well enough to see there’s something lurking under the surface of it. 

“You did great today,” she tells him, pecking him quickly on the cheek. 

“Thanks...what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I know you, and you’re acting strange. What’s up?”

Clarke sighs in acknowledgement that he’s right. 

“Are you going to take someone to prom?”

“I think, Princess, that  _ might _ tip people off to us. You know?” he quips sarcastically. 

Clarke rolls her eyes at him but he can still see the twitch of a smirk she’s trying to hold back. 

“No, I mean, are you going to take someone else?”

Bellamy just raises an eyebrow at her. 

“I don’t know, Octavia was suggesting you and Raven go as friends since Wick won’t want to go and you’re, you know,  _ single _ …” she trails off. 

Bellamy can’t help but smirk a little as he realizes where her worries are stemming from. 

“You jealous, Princess?”

“ _ No _ ,” she insists. “I just think going with Raven would be weird and all.”

Bellamy just hums in response, nodding at her but unable to conceal the smile on his face. 

“You’re an  _ ass _ ,” Clarke scolds while swatting at him, but with no real heat behind it.

Bellamy moves closer to her and pulls her into a long kiss, relishing in the feel of her soft, familiar lips. He’ll never get sick of this. 

“Princess, there’s no one I want to go to prom with but you.”

Clarke nods, apparently hearing the sincerity in his voice, and pulls him into another kiss. He pushes her down gently so that she’s laying under him on the truck bench, barely stopping to breathe between each kiss. 

“I only want you,” he whispers, before pressing a kiss to her jaw. 

“Only you,” he says again, his lips trailing down her neck. Her hands move from his hair to trail under his t-shirt. It does something to him when she does that, her hands trailing over his abdomen like she’s exploring him for the first time everytime. What she doesn’t usually do, at least when they’re in his truck, is try to lift his t-shirt over his head. 

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her. “ _ Now _ ?” he asks, a little disbelieving. It’s not uncommon for them to sneak away for a quick makeout session at a party, but Clarke is usually too nervous to spend much time doing more than that. Makes sense after all - it’s not like it’s too difficult to simply wait until they’re home. 

Clarke nods and tries again with his shirt but he doesn’t move yet. 

“Feeling territorial, Griffin?” he laughs.

Clarke glares at him but he only finds her more adorable. “You know, maybe I should go catch up with Harper instead,” she snaps. Bellamy narrows his eyes in response. “Or Monty or Maya…” Clarke trails off. “You know, I really should go see how Jasper is doing.” She finally sits up as if she’s really going to leave. 

“Don’t you dare,” Bellamy relents, peppering her face with soft quick kisses and butterfly kisses that make her giggle. His stomach flips in anticipation as he sits up to pull his shirt off at the same time that Clarke works on the jean shorts she’s wearing. A minute later, he’s giving her bruising kisses as he pushes into her slowly. 

“ _ God _ ,” she moans. The sound of that alone, combined with her wrapping her thighs tighter around him, is almost enough to undo him right then. He sets a slow pace, just enjoying the feel of her, soft and tight around him. 

Clarke giggles when he nibbles on her earlobe. Bellamy can’t help but smile as he kisses her messily after that, the sounds of her laughs like heaven to him. Just when he thinks he won’t last much longer, her giggles fade and he feels her walls contract around him. 

Bellamy presses a hand to her mouth as she starts to chant  _ yes _ over and over again. Turns out Clarke isn’t exactly quiet during sex, which shouldn’t have surprised him. It would be unbelievably sexy if there relationship weren’t a secret that depended on them being  _ very _ quiet in bed together. Hell, he thinks, it’s still unbelievably sexy.

Bellamy comes just moments after her, shuddering as he pauses mid-kiss and rests his forehead against hers. They’re both in a daze, pressing lazy kisses to each other, when the driver side door swings open. 

“Shit,” exclaims a familiar voice before the door quickly slams back shut. Bellamy scrambles off Clarke as quickly possible, afraid to glance over at what he’s sure is a panicked expression on her face. He doesn’t bother throwing on a shirt with his jeans before he’s out of the car.

He finds Murphy, of all people, with a pained and embarrassed expression on his face for maybe the first time since Bellamy’s known him.

“What the fuck, man?” Bellamy is trying to keep his voice down, which is hard when he wants to scream at him. 

“I’m sorry man, I just left my phone in the car,” he explains, but Bellamy can tell he's trying not to laugh. 

Bellamy rubs a hand across his face, unsure of what to even say to him. It’s another thing Clarke and him haven’t discussed - what to say if they _do_ get caught. Neither wanted to imagine this was a possibility. He hears the shotgun door shut quietly a moment later. 

“Clarke, who knew you had it in you?” Murphy quips as she walks up behind Bellamy. Bellamy doesn’t remember grabbing Murphy, but a minute later he’s slamming him into the side of his truck. He can hear Clarke telling him to stop, but it seems like background noise. Too far away. 

"This isn't a fucking joke!"

“Listen, I’m not gonna say anything, man!” Murphy insists, hands up at his sides as if surrendering. Bellamy glares at him for another moment before finally letting him go.

“I’m sorry man,” Bellamy says, taking a step back. “You just- you  _ can’t _ -”

“I’m serious, I won’t,” Murphy insists. “It’s really none of my business.” 

Bellamy doesn’t respond, feeling both terrified and angry all at once. It’s Clarke who speaks first. 

“Thanks,” she murmurs. 

“I’ll uh...I’ll grab my phone later." Bellamy feels Murphy give them one more weary glance before hurrying back towards the fire. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Bellamy sighs, once he’s gone. He leans against the truck, right where he just threw Murphy against it. When he looks up at Clarke, he sees eyes just as concerned as his own, instead of reassuring. “Fuck.”


	12. 'Cause When I Look at Him, All I See is You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh that finale. THAT HUG. You can catch my clown ass at the season 7 premiere. 
> 
> Anyways, this took SO LONG, sorry guys. I was distracted by another fic I just started (All Because of You) and Homesick fell off the rails, but we're back. Hope you enjoy!

_Clarke’s old aviators shield her eyes from the Carolina sun as she focuses on the vast highway ahead of her. Still, her mind is anywhere but the road, running wild with every stray thought that passes through it. She runs a hand through her tangled waves while keeping the other on the wheel, her hair too short these days to pull back out of her face. The wind whips it in every direction with all four of the windows of her rover jeep down. Still, she feels like she needs to have the windows down instead of simply turning the AC on like a normal person in the 21st century might. Some long forgotten idea about real air, not stale air, floats around Clarke’s head like an old piece of broken poetry._

_When Clarke passed the ‘Welcome to South Carolina’ sign, she had expected to feel something . Nostalgia, fear...maybe even the onset of a panic attack. Instead, she felt strangely numb to it. It’s not like she hasn’t been back since she left all those years ago. Still, it was never often enough for it to feel normal again. To feel like home again._

_Clarke sings along absentmindedly to the country station she found a while back, her aux cord no longer an option given her dead iPhone sitting in her shotgun seat. She knows it’s dumb to travel without a charger, to travel with a dead phone and no way to contact anyone. There’s something about her right now that just feels unhinged and it's making her feel careless, maybe even reckless. There’s a selfish part of her that likes that she’s completely unreachable and off the map, even if it means her family and friends might worry about her._

_She takes a deep breath and glances at the rock on her left ring finger. She keeps spotting it out of the corner of her eye as she drives, the sunlight reflecting off the diamond every so often. Not for the first time, she finds herself wondering what her father would think of him._

_Just a few more hours to Charleston , she reminds herself. You’ve got this ._

_She glances at the ring a second time, half expecting it to have evaporated in the time since she last looked at it. She does that a lot lately and wonders if she’ll ever get used to it. Surely, she will in time. Time soothes all rough edges. It heals everything and anything. Eventually, at least._

_Her mind is wandering when she finally tunes into the radio playing, hears the familiar lyrics as if from a distance. It’s an old country top 40 song from years ago, but she can’t even remember the name or artist. Something in the combination of the yearning in the singer’s voice and the lyrics unexpectedly pull on her heart strings._

_What if I'm tryin', but then I close my eyes_

_And then I'm right back, lost in that last goodbye?_

_And what if time doesn't do what it's supposed to do?_

_What if I never get over you?_

_She berates herself for the tears that unexpectedly slip from her eyes, seemingly out of nowhere. The words pull on some invisible thread that was supposed to tie her together, threatening to completely undo her. What if time doesn’t do what it’s supposed to do? She tries to make sense of the strange panic that comes over her at those lines._

_It’s only cold feet, Clarke. Get it together. It’s completely normal._

_But something in her is unconvinced. It’s as if she had spent her years away from Arkadia choking down time like a sour medicine, ignoring the burn in her throat only because she truly believed that it was the one thing that might heal her. But now she has someone suggesting this terrible, this horrifying, alternative. Time doesn’t always get the job done. Not like it’s supposed to anyways._

_What if I never get over?_

_What if I never get closure?_

_What if I never get back all the wasted words I told ya?_

_What if it never gets better?_

_What if this lasts forever and ever and ever?_

_It feels like a bodily reflex when Clarke shuts off the radio, one born of self-preservation. She can’t bear to go down that road, not when she’s so damn close to Arkadia. Not when she’s driving to Charleston for her wedding. To the man she loves . The man who makes her laugh, who is good to her, who is there for her always._

_She tries to steady her breathing, tries to shake off the memories. She’s good at that, compartmentalizing her memories and swallowing old, useless feelings._

_Then she does something stupid, against all logic. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s driving through this state again, her life packed up in her car, or maybe it's the glimpse of that giant ring again._

_In the end she’s not sure she has a single rational reason for it. Before she can give it too much thought, she’s swerving across two lanes of traffic without a signal to catch the exit towards Arkadia. She exhales when she makes it, driving down the old familiar route in the opposite direction of Charleston. Only then does she realize that she had been holding her breath._

\--∞--

The breeze on Clarke’s face as her unfocused eyes glimpse mile after mile of cornfield feels both refreshing and necessary. It somehow calms her, even as anxiety swarms her insides, spreading from her stomach through her fingertips like a disease. Through the open window, she absentmindedly drags her fingers across the outside of the shotgun door of Bellamy’s truck. She knows every rusted section of chipped paint like the back of her hand. 

They’re all quiet as Bellamy drives them home from the fire. Bellamy and her are still reeling from Murphy walking in on them and Clarke suspects that Octavia’s sour mood has a lot to do with the fact that Atom never showed up at the fire, although she would never bring it up in front of Bellamy. Clarke knows she’ll be on the receiving end of Octavia’s rant later, so she revels in current the peace and quiet, taking the opportunity to think things through. 

 _What is there to think about?_ , that nagging, constant voice reminds her. _You stop seeing Bellamy or wait until Murphy or someone else outs you_.

Maybe it is as simple as that, although she can barely admit that to herself, let alone outloud. 

Bellamy sighs as he pulls into the driveway and cuts the ignition and lights. He looks tired and Clarke wonders if she does too. She wonders if this whole thing, for all the bliss that has accompanied it, has taken a toll on them that they haven’t been paying attention to. 

“Clarke, my room,” Octavia grits as the girls climb out of the truck. Bellamy doesn’t say anything, not even a sarcastic quip, at Octavia’s mood. That’s how Clarke knows his mind is reeling, same as hers. 

“Can’t we talk about this tomorrow? I’m exhausted, O.”

Octavia just glares at her while Bellamy unlocks and opens the front door for them.

“Fine, fine. Only twenty minutes,” Clarke concedes as they walk in. 

Clarke watches out of the corner of her eye as Bellamy walks into his own room without a word and Clarke follows Octavia into hers, eager to get the discussion about Atom out of the way so she can deal with her own pressing problems. 

\--∞--

Bellamy is reading when he hears his window slide open nearly an hour later. He’s changed into a pair of soft gray shorts and undershirt, his glasses having replaced his contacts. He admits that _reading_ is a strong word - he’s barely been able to get through a paragraph, let alone a page. He sets the book down and turns to face Clarke as she pulls his window back down. 

“Hey,” she murmurs, running a hand through her own waves. The way she wears those leggings and an oversized t-shirt make him wish he could forget everything else, that they could simply exist together in this room. He would just pull her into his arms, the rest of the world and the problems that come with it melting away. 

“We should probably talk,” she tries, snapping him back to reality. 

“I don’t think he’ll say anything, I don’t know…” he trails off. Clarke sits beside him on the bed but keeps her distance. 

“We don’t know that. _You_ don’t know that. We also thought we wouldn’t ever get caught, and we got careless.” The harshness in her voice takes him aback. 

“Okay, well it’s done, Clarke. What do you want? Do you want to call it quits because of Murphy? Pull the plug just like that?” 

When Bellamy looks up, he’s surprised to see her blue eyes swimming in unshed tears, oceans threatening to break across shore. Clarke isn’t one to cry easily. 

“I’m sorry,” he tries, voice softer. She doesn’t respond, just shakes her head at him as she rubs a stray tear away with the heel of her hand. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, “But, I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know that I could. Could you?”

When Clarke finally speaks, it isn’t what he expected. 

“You can’t even go to your own prom with a date,” she says, her voice cracking on the last word.

“Clarke, I don’t care about any of that shit. You have to know that.”

“You _should_ care. You should care about all the life experiences that you’re missing out on because of me - because of _us_.” Bellamy’s stomach drops at these words because maybe it’s her that feels this way about him. He knows she isn’t holding him back, but maybe he’s been taking things from her all along that she can never get back.

“Bellamy, how does this end?” she continues. “With Murphy outing us to our friends? If he doesn’t, then what? We keep living on this island and keeping this huge part of our lives hidden from everyone else we love?” 

She isn’t trying to hold in her tears anymore, and although she isn’t sobbing, they fall freely down her flushed cheeks. He’s surprised to feel that one of his own has escaped, doesn’t even realize it until he’s already wiping it away. Unable to resist any longer, he moves to sit next to her, close enough to take her damp face into his hands. 

“Hey, I don’t have answers. I wish I did, but I don’t. I just know that it’s going to be me and you, together, always, okay?”

Clarke gives him the smallest nod, her face still in his hands, but the uncertainty in her eyes nearly breaks his heart. He kisses her softly, her lips tasting like salt and the smallest hint of whiskey. They lay down on his bed after that, his arms around her. Nights like these feel bittersweet. He’s all too aware that she could be ripped from him at any moment, but it’s for that very reason that he savors these moments all the more. He tucks them away, little treasures buried in his heart that he knows he can find his way back to in the darkest of hours. 

“For how long though?” Clarke whispers, nearly five minutes later. “It can’t go on forever.” Her voice is so quiet, Bellamy thinks she may have been speaking more to herself. He only holds her closer, presses a kiss to her hairline, knowing his assurances won’t do either of them any good on a night like this. 

\--∞--

“Did you guys get the invitation, sweetheart?” 

Clarke tucks her phone between her shoulder and ear as she digs through the bathroom cabinet for some Motrin. Why do they never have the essentials when she needs them?

“Yes, mom,” Clarke answers shortly, distracted by her search. Her throat aches with each word. 

“Okay, good. I wanted to make sure they knew we were serious when we invited them at Thanksgiving.” 

It’s touching, how Abby thought to invite her whole family to her wedding with Marcus. A few years ago, Clarke wouldn’t have dreamed she could have both parents, both families, in her life the way she does now. She feels a gratefulness wash over her, but it’s interrupted by the dizzy spell that follows. 

“I think everyone’s coming, Mom,” Clarke assures her. “They really appreciate it. We all can’t wait.”

“Well, it’s officially only three months away, so it’ll be here before we know it.” She pauses for a moment. “Are you feeling okay? You’re voice sounds strained.”

Clarke sighs, knowing her mom will overreact. 

“My throat is pretty sore and I’m a little light headed. I’ll go to the doctor if it’s not better by tomorrow.”

“Clarke, you should go _now_.”

“Mom, it’s-”

“Clarke, I will call your father if you don’t-”

“Okay, sure. I’ve got to go, love you!” Clarke hangs up before her mom can answer. She knows her mom will likely call her dad, but she’ll already be at school by the time he gets in touch with Aurora. 

She sighs in relief as she finally finds some Motrin shoved away in the drawer. Her pre-calculus final is today and if she can just get through that, she’ll take as many sick days as her parents and the doctor insist on. 

There’s a quick tap at the door but Clarke doesn’t get to answer before it opens a crack. 

“Hey, you ready? We’re running late,” Bellamy tells her, popping his head in. 

“Yeah, sorry, just grabbing some Motrin.”

Bellamy opens the door wider and steps inside. “Headache? You stress yourself out too much,” he chides, but his voice is more fond than anything.

“No, I woke up with a bad sore throat this morning. Probably just allergies or something.”

Concern flashes across Bellamy’s face at that. He’s just as bad as her mother. 

“Still, stay away from me in case it’s not.” Predictably, Bellamy ignores her and steps closer to gently press the back of his hand against her forehead. 

“Clarke, you feel really warm. You can probably reschedule your test, just stay home today.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and steps around him to head downstairs. He’s on her heels a moment later.

“Okay, _Doctor_ Bellamy,” she mocks. He just shakes his head at her, knowing that arguing with her is a waste of both of their energy. 

“C’mon, O’s already in the car,” he tells her as he grabs the keys from the counter.

\--∞--

 _Just get through today. Just one day._ It becomes Clarke’s mantra as she drags herself from class to class all morning. Why does pre-calculus have to be an afternoon class? Still, it’s Friday. If she can just get through the day, then she has the whole weekend to rest up for her remaining finals next week. 

Bellamy approaches her locker as she’s getting ready to go into her final, giving her a disapproving look. 

“Bellamy, I’m _fine_ ,” she assures him before he can get a word out.

“You look like the living dead, Clarke,” he deadpans. 

“Oxymoron,” she quips in return, going for a joke to lighten his mood. It falls flat when she breaks into a small coughing fit that leaves Bellamy glaring at her, eyebrows raised. 

“Just this one test, and I’ll go home,” she promises once she recovers. Clarke means it too, she’s feeling worse by the minute. She walks away after that, feeling his eyes on her back the entirety of her walk to the classroom. 

\--∞--

Turns out that her mom and Bellamy were right - she may have overdone it. Clarke barely gets through her test without passing out and she knows she’ll be lucky to end up with a B on it. She might care later, but at the moment all she can think about is laying down and closing her eyes. She feels lightheaded and flushed, barely able to swallow let alone focus on the numbers in front of her. Somehow she manages to complete it.

She practically stumbles towards the nurse’s office after that, not caring about her last two classes of the day. 

“102,” the school nurse tuts five minutes later, thermometer in hand. “Are your parents around to come pick you up? You need to get to the doctor.”

“My dad works in Columbia but I can call my stepmom.”

Clarke pulls out her cell to call Aurora, feeling guilty for having to pull her away from the diner while they’re still cleaning up after the lunch rush. 

“Clarke, is everything okay?” Aurora greets her, voice cloaked in worry. It’s unusual for any of them to call their parents during the school day. 

“Yeah, I’m just not feeling well. I’m at the nurse’s and I have a fever. Can you come and get me?”

“Yeah, of course sweetheart. I’ll be there in ten.” She hangs up before Clarke can thank her, clearly in a rush to get to the school. She thinks back to the Blakes’ childhood memories of her and feels something like guilt about the fact that this is the only Aurora she knows, while their love for her is twisted up in something darker. 

\--∞--

“How’s Clarke doing?” They’re the first words out of Bellamy’s mouth when he walks into the kitchen to find his mom making soup.

“Well, she has strep throat,” Aurora tells him as she pours the soup into a bowl. “They gave her antibiotics though, so she’ll be just fine after a miserable weekend.”

“Oh. Is that, uh,” he hesitates, busying himself with emptying his backpack. “Is that contagious?”

Aurora shakes her head at him. “You and Octavia should be fine if you haven’t shared drinks with her recently.”

Bellamy’s stomach swoops nervously. It’s not going to look good if he gets sick from Clarke and Octavia didn’t. 

“Why, are you feeling symptoms?” Aurora abandons the soup for a moment to feel his forehead with the back of her hand. 

“No, I’m fine.” Bellamy backs away as if on instinct. He doesn’t like to be coddled by her, not after everything. Still, he can’t help the guilt he feels when hurt flashes across her eyes.

“I’ll bring Clarke’s soup up,” he adds, feeling awkward. Aurora just nods at him and walks towards the fridge to start dinner for the rest of them. 

\--∞--

A little over 24 hours later, Bellamy is straightening his blue tie in front of his long bedroom mirror. It’s stupid, he knows, but he thinks if Clarke could come with him, she would probably wear a blue dress.

 _Prom_ , he thinks. _Why the fuck am I going to Prom_. 

Just a year ago, this would have been something he didn’t think twice about. Maybe he would have taken Roma or Bree - any girl who he could have a decent time with who he didn’t mind leaving at the end of the night. He’d drink with his friends, party into the night, and it would be another victorious high school memory. 

Now it seems laughable for him to go at all. Not when the only reason for wanting to go is lying sick in her bed. It’s not like she could go even if she wasn’t sick, but God, what he wouldn’t do so that she could. What he would do to be able to take Clarke as his date, gorgeous in some blue dress that matches her eyes. What he wouldn’t do to be able to whisper in her ear all night, to make her giggle with his lame jokes and to have someone who understands him no matter what he says. What he wouldn’t do to be able to hold her during a slow dance, swaying with her to some cheesy song. _What he wouldn’t do_. 

He knows he’s turned into a total softie, but he can’t find it in him to care anymore. 

“Bell,” Octavia calls as she knocks on his door. “Mom wants pictures before you head out.”

“Be right out,” he sighs, giving himself one last once over in the mirror. Octavia is still in the hall when he comes out, leaning against the wall as if waiting for him. 

“Can I help you?” he asks, amused by her presence. A little annoyed by it too, since he was going to pop his head into Clarke’s room to check on her. 

“Oh, just wanted to see my big brother looking all spiffy for Prom,” she teases in a sing song voice. 

“C’mere, loser.” Bellamy wraps an arm around her shoulder and manages to mess up her hair before she breaks away with a laugh. Things with Octavia have managed to mostly shift back to normal after the catastrophe that was finding out Atom was taking Ontari to prom instead of her. Bellamy managed to hold his tongue and not tell her ‘I told you so’ and so her sour attitude towards him slowly faded. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at Harper’s anyways?” he asks as they descend the stairs. The sophomores in their group were gathering for a movie night. 

“I’m leaving in ten, and you’re giving me a ride since you’re dateless anyways.”

Bellamy flips her off just as his mom turns the corner into the foyer. He does his best to make like he’s running a hand through his hair and Octavia snickers from behind her, successfully flipping him off instead. She gets away with everything. 

“You look so handsome, honey,” his mom gushes. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs. “Apparently I’m giving Octavia a ride to Harper’s, so I’ve got to head out.”

“Just one photo, that’s all we ask,” Jake says, entering the foyer through the living room. Bellamy rolls his eyes but lets them take their photo. 

“You don’t look too excited,” Jake observes. 

Bellamy just shrugs. “Prom is overrated.”

“Not when you take a girl you like,” Aurora argues. “There was no one you wanted to take tonight?”

 _Yes, of course there is._  

“No, there’s no one.”

Aurora looks concerned, probably at the depressing tone of his voice. 

“It’ll be fun just to hang out with my friends, don’t worry about it, Mom.” Bellamy kisses her cheek before calling for Octavia to hurry up. He’s not even out the door yet before he’s thinking about how he can’t wait to come home.

\--∞--

The prom isn’t all that different from the homecoming dance, just a little more effort put into the decorations. The theme is space, or more specifically, ‘Out of this World.’ Bellamy can’t even think that without wanting to gag, so he keeps referring to it as ‘space-themed’. 

The music is so loud he can barely hear once he walks into the gymnasium. Everything seems tinted in blue, the ceiling covered in stars with the help of a projector. It takes him a beat to spot his friends, but he eventually spots them at a table tucked in the corner. Murphy, Emori, Miller, and Bryan sit amongst a few others in their class. Bellamy’s relieved to see that Raven’s at the table too, laughing with Emori about something. 

“Hey, guys. Happy Prom,” Bellamy greets them sarcastically, clapping his hands on Miller’s shoulders. Everyone cheers at his greeting, clearly a little buzzed already. 

He spends the next few hours going through the motions. Miller and Murphy, the best friends they are, let him steal just enough of their whiskey to give him a small buzz. He hadn’t even thought to bring his flask, clearly not in the mood to party. They all switch between dancing and hanging out at the table that they’ve managed to mark as their own. 

Yet, he still can’t fight the nagging feeling of being at prom without Clarke. It’s not just that he misses her. Okay, maybe that’s a big part of it. Yet, it’s also because he knows she’s sick and alone in her room while even the rest of their friends are hanging out without her. Bellamy likes to think he could have an okay time if he knew that Clarke was also having a good time elsewhere, giggling with some wine stolen from Harper’s parents as she kicked ass at Cards Against Humanity or yelling at stupid characters on a tv screen until everyone told her to shut up. He thinks he could have a good time if she was happy, but he knows that isn’t the case. 

They’ve got about an hour left when Bellamy leaves the dance floor to grab water from the drinking fountain in the hallway. They have water in the gym with the refreshments, but he also wants some cool air and quiet. He likes the feel of the school empty at night, how most of the lights are turned off and he can hear the echo of his dress shoes on the cheap tile. It makes him feel like he’s entered a strange parallel dimension.

Bellamy’s about to head back into the gym when he sees a figure sitting on the bench outside of the main entrance of the school. When he peers closer, he sees that it’s Raven. She looks nice and way more done-up than he’s ever seen, wearing a silky red dress and her hair down in waves. He doesn’t want to intrude, but checking on her sounds much more preferable to going back into the gym. 

“Ready for the after party already, Reyes?” 

Raven’s eyes flit up at him in surprise but she recovers quickly. 

“You could say that,” she laughs. 

“That seat taken?” he asks, nodding to the space beside her. She shakes her head and goes back to staring up at the night sky. It’s clear enough that they can see most of the stars. Unfortunately the May air feels almost as warm and humid as the gym and he can already feel his dress shirt starting to stick to him. 

“Having fun?” He sits down beside her, tilting his head up to look at the sky with her. 

“Clearly,” she mutters. Bellamy lets out a soft laugh and then they’re quiet for a moment, just listening to the cicadas and crickets crying out from the soccer fields. 

“I miss Wick,” Raven blurts. She says it like she’s confessing a sin, making Bellamy let out a harsh laugh. 

“It’s not funny, Blake!” She pushes him hard and he nearly falls off the bench, causing her to start laughing with him. 

“No, it’s not,” he says, sitting upright again to look at the sky. “It’s funny that you think you’re not allowed to or supposed to.”

“I thought I could have fun without him. He’s too old to come to prom, it would have been weird. I thought I could have a good time with my friends because it’s not that I _need_ a date or anything. It’s just, I miss _him_.” 

“I get it,” Bellamy sighs. 

“I’d imagine you do,” Raven quips back. He can hear the smirk in her voice and it makes him pull his eyes from the stars to look at her. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, it’s not my business. But maybe we should get out of here, and go hang out with the people we miss.” 

Bellamy swallows hard, nervous at what Raven is implying. Then again, if she wanted to accuse him and Clarke, she would be demanding answers instead of coyly implying that he could tell her when he’s ready. Raven isn’t one to beat around the bush, but she is a good friend. 

“Yeah, let’s get out of here,” he agrees after a moment. 

“Glad that worked, I hitched a ride with Murphy and Emori and needed a getaway car.” She stands up, taking off her heels.  

“Ah, a Reyes master plan,” he laughs. “Should we tell the others we’re heading out?”

“Nah, let’s Irish goodbye this bitch,” she laughs, already heading towards his truck. Bellamy shakes his head at her but follows her lead. 

\--∞--

Bellamy gets home about twenty minutes later after he dropped off Raven at Wick’s on the other side of town. Jake and his mom are watching a movie in the living room when he gets in, locking the front door behind him. 

 _I can’t believe I didn’t even break curfew on Prom night_ , he thinks. 

_I can’t believe that I don’t even care._

“Is that you home already, Bell?” his mom calls, pausing the movie.  

“Yeah, I had a good time, but I’m beat,” he tells them, popping his head into the living room. They give him a bit of a strange look but he heads upstairs before they can ask him anything else. He contemplates changing but decides against it, feeling in a hurry to see Clarke. He decides not to tell her about Raven’s suspicions. It’s one more thing for her to worry about that they don’t need to. Not tonight at least. 

Bellamy goes through the familiar routine of entering his room, locking it from the inside, and climbing through Clarke’s window. He hesitates for a moment, not wanting to wake her if she’s sleeping, but he sees that there’s still a dim light on. 

Clarke’s head pops up from a pile of blankets the minute he opens the window. She looks rough, her blonde hair in need of a wash and swept up in a messy bun. Her face is flushed, from the fever. He’d take this over fifty girls in prom dresses.  

“Bellamy? What are you doing home?” Her voice sounds so incredulous to see him that he lets out a soft chuckle as he locks her door. 

“Stay away, you’re going to get sick,” she adds as he sits down on the edge of her bed. 

“Wasn’t having any fun without you, Princess,” he murmurs. “Had to come see you, it was my only choice.”

“Only choice. Also an oxymoron,” she jokes. Her voice is strained but he can see the hint of a smile at him being here. He should have come home hours ago. 

“So is cold sweat,” he laughs, trailing a hand down the side of her face before tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. 

She rolls her eyes but smirks. “You come in here looking like Prince Charming, and I look like shit,” she laughs. 

He lays down on his back beside her, giving her as much space as possible in her twin bed. “Hey, don’t worry. Even when you’re not sick, I’m still out of your league.”

Clarke swats at him but it’s weak. He doesn’t miss the smile she bites down on. 

“What are we watching?”

Clarke just smirks and presses play on the movie she paused when he came in. It takes him a minute to place what it is. 

“You’re watching _Carrie_? While I was at Prom!” 

Clarke’s smirk grows and it’s so adorable that he feels a physical ache at not being able to kiss her. After they finish _Carrie_ , she turns on the original _Prom Night_ but dozes through the first half and is out cold but the second half. He pulls her blanket up to her shoulders and turns off the lights and unlocks her door before climbing back out the window. 

“Night, Clarke,” he murmurs. 

 _They’re going to be fine_ , he tells himself. _They’re going to be just fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those few who don't know, the song is the new Lady Antebellum song, "What if I never get over you." This song has single handedly reignited my inspo for this fic, so thank you Lady Antebellum.


	13. Hiatus Update

Not an update. Please read here: https://burninghoneyatdusk.tumblr.com/post/187895921934/peace-out

https://burninghoneyatdusk.tumblr.com/post/187951675369/thank-you


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